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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674291">Shared Language</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melliebae/pseuds/Melliebae'>Melliebae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Angst, Canon Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Has plot actually, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, POV Otabek Altin, Pining, Post-Canon, Romance, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:02:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,244</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melliebae/pseuds/Melliebae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpt:</p><p>For not the first time in Otabek's life, he wants to kiss Yuri Plisetsky.</p><p>It hasn't always been so difficult to resist. When Yuri was 15, Otabek only wanted to be close to him. He's not sure when he started wanting to kiss him, but he does know <i>something</i> hit him like a ton of bricks three years ago when Yuri recounted losing his virginity to him in great detail.</p><p>Otabek isn't proud that's what made him realize his feelings for his best friend. Even worse, his best friend three years his junior.</p><p>Though with Yuri, Otabek always feels like he's the one trailing behind, gazing up, and looking for reassurance.</p><p>---<br/>(A future fic where Beka gets his first superfan and that superfan is decidedly not a fan of Yuri Plisetsky. Otabek has a rough season and his relationship with Yuri receives more scrutiny, pushing them closer together. yuri is 20)<br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>248</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Coming in hot with a popular pairing fic in an already saturated fandom because IMO there still aren't enough longish aged-up otayuri fics out here.</p><p>((On the off chance you are here because I've been caught red-handed not upating my long fic in a different fandom, I am sorry. I actually wrote this fic a solid while ago and decided to upload it when I reread it recently and didn't hate it.))</p><p>Pls HMU if anyone is willing to typo-read this. Not at all offended by pointing out those 'oops wrong word' typos my basic spelling checker can't catch. They're hard for me to see without tons of time distance from the fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ever since Otabek sent Yuri a blurry clip of his Free Skate this year (sans music), Yuri has been nothing short of dashingly aflutter for the new season. It was not lost on Yuri that Otabek's costume this year looks much like that of a long ago exhibition skate in which, during a passionate lapse of judgment, Otabek removed Yuri's glove with his teeth.</p><p>It's the least Otabek can do to come see Yuri kick off the season in America. Otabek is assigned to Skate Canada in just one short week. Why not make an extra stop across the pond?</p><p>Yuri, predictably, had dominated the Short Programs yesterday. It puts him far in the lead for today's Free Skate.</p><p>Otabek lingers on the sidelines with a particularly glum Lilia and coach Yakov. Yuri Plisetsky, Ice Tiger of Russia, yells at some very irritated police officers in poorly-enunciated English.</p><p>“What is this, some kind of PRANK?” Yuri fumes, beautiful and fiery in his green and purple costume. The subtle gold lining on the peacock design shimmers under the rink lights. “If a skater sat out every time they got a STUPID EMPTY DEATH THREAT, there wouldn't be anyone good on the ice!”</p><p>It's been a while since Otabek has heard Yuri angry like this. He's calmer now. More mature. When he is angry, he skates, or dances, or belts out his eclectic cacophony of music tastes. </p><p>When he's backed into a corner, though, he's still the same Yuri Plisetsky he was the day Otabek met him—leg poised effortlessly over his head in an expensive ballet studio as the sun glowed through his hair. </p><p>Yuri's always been a burning fuse, glittering for show and just waiting to boom. Otabek smiles to himself softly, but wipes it away when Yuri shoots him a death glare.</p><p>This whole debacle is his fault. Otabek had found a letter in Yuri's bag this morning (strike one) and went immediately to Coach Yakov and Lilia (strike two). He'd explained the letter in English, ever vigilant to speak the language of the country he's in (it's good practice). Their reception had been lukewarm at best as they addressed each other in Russian, commenting flatly on how Otabek has never received a death threat and has the auacity to go behind Yuri's back. As if he wasn't standing right there. </p><p>As if they haven't been speaking fluent Russian with him for <i>years.</i></p><p>Defeated, he had reported the death threat to the authorities of Skate America (strike three). Otabek feels his stomach curl as he remembers the way he'd fumbled uncomfortably through translating the part of the letter that referenced Yuri's infidelity (strike four— Yuri Plisetsky <i>hates</i> English), outlining how Yuri's various casual relationships were toxic to none other than Otabek Altin.</p><p>Strike five.</p><p>They're accustomed to people assuming there's something more between them, but having to translate it to someone makes Otabek uncomfortable. It isn't entirely off-base, either. There's always been <i>something</i> between him and Yuri. Not sex, or even romance, but something deeply intense all the same.</p><p>It's Yuri's turn on the ice. Otabek feels like a foolish outsider in his own sport. He didn't even <i>know</i> that skaters receive death threats. How was he supposed to know? Otabek is a highly-technical skater known for little else. No one ever feels passionate enough about his skating to openly resent him.</p><p>But perhaps that isn't true, because clearly someone this year is happy to resent Yuri <i>on his behalf.</i></p><p>Before anyone can act, Yuri is removing his skate guards and thrusting them into Coach Yakov's angry fists. He skates out on the ice with graceful dignity, hands raised to the roar of a crowd that just <i>adores</i> him.</p><p>“Davai!” Otabek calls to Yuri who only pierces him with his gaze, eyes narrowed like an angry feline. </p><p>And Otabek, too, just adores him.</p><p>He flubs his jumps. A hand on the ice twice. A sloppy delivery on a triple axle. But this is Yuri, for whom a sloppy spin is a flawless pirouette. The audience roars.</p><p>Lilia regards Otabek with (what feels like) a cold expression each moment Yuri is in anything less than top form. </p><p>Coach Yakov is even easier to read. He is absolutely livid. His arms are crossed over his chest as his eyes scan the packed stands. Eventually, his eyes settle on Otabek to burn holes into his skull.</p><p>Cats and flowers fill the ice. Yuri bows. He comes off the ice looking pissed and disappointed, but he's still gorgeous. A few blond strands of his hair hang loose from his high braid, wisping around his wild, emerald green eyes. Otabek thinks he's angelic.</p><p>Otabek greets Yuri as soon as he's off the ice with a small, forgiving smile. Two palms shove hard against his chest before Yuri immediately pulls away. Yuri narrows his eyes at him once more.</p><p>In the same whirlwind duel he always dances with Yuri, Otabek tries anyway.</p><p>“Yura, you were-”</p><p>“Save it,” Yuri snaps in Russian with a hand in Otabek's face as he attempts to entirely skip the kiss &amp; cry. Yuri is clearly finished with even <i>trying</i> English for Skate America (which was only at Otabek's behest anyway), but Lilia drags him over to the cameras with a sturdy glare.</p><p>An American skater snags the gold medal, Yuuri Katsuki takes silver, and Yuri Plisetsky gets a bronze slap in the face. </p><p>At 28, Yuuri Katsuki is a relic, polishing off a record-shattering career with one, final season. Viktor is long retired, but spends his career's fortune showering Yuuri in lavish gifts and traveling to competitions with him, gushing over his skating. </p><p>Otabek is happy for them. A silver medal at age 28 is something to marvel. Yuuri visibly ascends to personal nirvana on the podium. His smile sparkles as fat, happy tears fall from his eyes. Otabek wonders if Yuuri might decide to mark this as his final competition. He's unlikely to win the Grand Prix Final again with a whole career of injuries to carry on those tired legs.</p><p>Yuri looks decidedly less transcended.</p><p>Yuri Plisetsky— age 20 with 8 grand prix series gold medals and an “absolutely unacceptable” number of silver (thank you, Lilia)— is obviously staggered to finish this season's grand prix series kick-off with a bronze medal.</p><p>Otabek leaves to retrieve his suitcase from the desk where he stowed it. His flight to Canada is a red-eye tomorrow morning, conveniently close to Yuri's departure back to Russia.</p><p>Otabek's suitcase thuds along the bumps in the stadium flooring. The overhead fluorescent lights of the backstage halls whine softly as he makes his way to the locker rooms. The KISS &amp; CRY pass around his neck is a mere formality that no one bothers to stop and check.</p><p>Otabek raps one knuckle on the locker room door as a courtesy to the other skaters before entering. Only a few remain, fully dressed in street clothes and gathering the last of their belongings. Yuri's bag is zipped tight as Yuri slings it over Otabek's shoulder without delay.</p><p>“You carry this shit. It's heavy,” Yuri grumbles. Otabek offers his free hand to carry Yuri's costume as well. </p><p>Yuri's eyes narrow for a second as he inspects Otabek's arguably full hands, but passes it off anyway. He wordlessly pulls out his phone and orders an Uber, then pushes his hands into his jacket pockets and leads the way out of the locker rooms.</p><p>“This is bullshit,” Yuri complains ten minutes later when their Uber has not arrived. “Uber in Russia was way better than this shitty crap even before Yandex bought it.”</p><p>“It's been ten minutes, Yura,” Otabek informs him softly, factually.</p><p>“I don't give a crap!” Yuri snaps, then claps his jaw shut when the car pulls up right in front of them.</p><p>Otabek momentarily abandons his suitcase by the car. He slings Yuri's shoulder bag into the trunk and gently lays his costume bag flat in the backseat.</p><p>“Oh, Otabek! Yurio!” a familiar Japanese-accented voice calls in English. Otabek turns to greet Yuuri with a firm nod and a slight, somewhat forced smile. He likes Yuuri as much as he likes anyone. It's pleasant to see him.</p><p>“I'm very disappointed with your performance, Yurio,” Viktor scolds sadly, pointing a finger in Yuri's face and shaking his head. “You've truly wounded me as your mentor.”</p><p>Ah, right, Otabek recalls. Yuri's Free Skate this year was choreographed by Viktor again. Otabek supposes that gives him the right to feel some level of disappointment with bronze.</p><p>“Where's your medal, Yurio?” Yuuri asks in a friendly manner. There's nothing but genuine curiosity in his tone, but Otabek feels himself internally wince at the careless blunder.</p><p>“In the garbage where it belongs!” Yuri shouts, then walks around the car to retrieve Otabek's suitcase so they can retreat as quickly as possible from the encounter.</p><p>“Congratulations, Yuuri,” Otabek says, offering his hand for Yuuri to shake. “A respectable performance.”</p><p>Yuuri's cheeks burn bright red as he takes Otabek's hand and shakes awkwardly until Yuri interrupts the exchange.</p><p>“Uh- Otabek...” Yuri says, looking around the other side of the car. “Did you put your suitcase in the car already?”</p><p>The Uber driver honks firm and long. Ready to go. Otabek inspects the spot where his suitcase once was. The suitcase holding his clothes, his toiletries, his phone charger. His costumes. His skates and his entire career. Otabek feels his blood boil, rage and panic spreading up the base of his skull to create a dull headache.</p><p>Yuri kicks the front right wheel of the car and the driver rolls his window down immediately. “Hey!” he reprimands. “Watch the rims!”</p><p>“Beka's bag is gone!” Yuri yells at the driver with fury and a heavy accent.</p><p>“Not my problem,” the driver counters and rolls his window back up with finality.</p><p>“I hate this shitty fucking country!” Yuri shouts, very intentionally, in much clearer English.</p><p>Otabek folds his emotions neatly into a corner. They can be addressed later. He thinks of his grandmother—  a soft-natured woman of wrinkled hands and Kazakh proverbs. </p><p><i>Remember this lesson, Otabek,</i> he remembers her say after the first time his wallet was stolen. <i>The people without thieves are like the land without wolves.</i></p><p>They bid Yuuri and Viktor farewell. The pair look genuinely apologetic for the distraction. Yuri ignores them and angrily files into the back of the stuffy black Buick, slamming the door.</p><p>On the ride over, Otabek is reeling. He's already thinking through how to get everything prepared for competition— he adapts well under the pressure of emergency situations (because yes this is an <i>emergency</i>). He reads through the skaters assigned to Skate Canada next week, silently berating himself for not having more friends in the industry. Relief washes over him when he catches JJ's name on the list. </p><p>Otabek sneaks a glance at Yuri. He's leaned angrily on the window, watching the twinkling lights of thousands of buildings pass by on their way to the airport hotel.</p><p>Otabek, thin on options, texts JJ for help. He doesn't mind JJ, but he knows Yuri is already angry with him and doesn't want to risk triggering more fury from the deflated ice tiger. Yuri hates JJ. Yuri hates JJ almost as much as Otabek hates inconveniencing fellow competitors before a big competition, but desperate times and such.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 20:55</b><br/>
Hello, JJ. I would like a favor.</p><p>The reply is instantaneous.</p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:55</b><br/>
All right altin!! looking forward to destroying you on my home turf!!! </p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:55</b><br/>
is this to do with that fiery little blond again??</p><p>Otabek's insides jump as he whips his head to check on Yuri again. He's still gazing out the window but his expression is softer now. The lights twinkle in his eyes, almost curtained by his graceful blond hair let down to brush just above his shoulders.</p><p>How did Otabek forget the last time he asked a favor of JJ when it was so deeply embarrassing? Yuri had been feeling down at Cup of China last year. Otabek wasn't assigned to Cup of China, but JJ was, so Otabek had very meticulously instructed him through planning a surprise for Yuri, stressing how Yuri could never know JJ was the one to help.</p><p>JJ had just laughed at that. He's a good guy very accustomed to receiving hate for his attitude, but really he just wants friendly competition in the sport that consumes his life.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 20:57</b><br/>
No. My suitcase was stolen.</p><p>Otabek doubts himself briefly. Was is stole or stolen? English is a tricky language sometimes.</p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:57</b><br/>
welcome to America, my Kazakh friend!! gotta watch your back in those big cities</p><p>Otabek calmly swallows a twinge of irritation. People always treat him this way— like he's a naive boy from a small, backwater country. JJ <i>knows</i> Otabek has trained extensively in America and Canada. It's only been in his adult years that he's actually trained in Kazakhstan.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 20:57</b><br/>
Thank you, but I have been to America already. Will you help me?</p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:57</b><br/>
chill out, keener. Just a joke.</p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:57</b><br/>
don't tell me you had all of your skating equipment in that bag!!!</p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:57</b><br/>
I always just have everything sent with my coach!</p><p>Otabek huffs to himself. He isn't sure what a keener is, but he gets the gist. Yuri lifts his head suddenly, alerted by his huff, and studies Otabek with fierce green eyes.</p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:58</b><br/>
of course I'll help you. How else will I hope to have ANY competition this week!!?</p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:58</b><br/>
and I know you sure can afford the best with your family fortune alright</p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:58</b><br/>
get me your skate size and anything else. Canadian sizes!!!</p><p>“You're pissing me off,” Yuri informs him suddenly. Otabek fires off a quick message.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 20:58</b><br/>
Thank you. I will provide information before I sleep.</p><p><b>Jean-Jacques Leroy 20:58</b><br/>
true</p><p>Otabek slides his phone into his pocket just as Yuri's head plops heavily onto his shoulder. Otabek stiffens for a second, unsure what to say or do, but aware that Yuri is waiting patiently for <i>something.</i></p><p>“I apologize for the role I played in your bronze,” Otabek states seriously. “Your program was still beautiful.”</p><p>Yuri nuzzles his shoulder. It's absolutely precious. Otabek doesn't dare move. Moments like this with Yuri are rare and easily shattered. They must be treasured.</p><p>“See, this is what I'm talking about!” Yuri groans and the moment has already ended. Yuri lifts his head to glare, but much of the fight is lost in his voice. “I'm trying to be fucking angry with you, but you just lost your fucking skates and costumes and all you can do is apologize and tell me I'm pretty!”</p><p>Otabek feels the hint of a smile crack at his lips as he looks at Yuri, all wild hair and tired eyes. “I didn't say <i>you</i> were beautiful,” he counters.</p><p>“Ugh, Bekaaaa. I'm pissed I don't have time to be angry with you when you're leaving me in seven hours!!” Yuri whines, shoving his hands in Otabek's face. A chuckle bubbles from Otabek's lips. When he pulls Yuri's hands down, he's beaming at him with a full, pure smile and a soft blush on his cheeks.</p><p>For not the first time in Otabek's life, he wants to kiss Yuri Plisetsky.</p><p>It hasn't always been so difficult to resist. When Yuri was 15, Otabek only wanted to be close to him. He's not sure when he started wanting to kiss him, but he does know <i>something</i> hit him like a ton of bricks when Yuri recounted losing his virginity to him in great detail. Yuri was 17 at the time and seeing some hunk with a motorcycle. Otabek had forayed into his first experience with social media stalking. The guy was very handsome and hunky, indeed. </p><p>Otabek isn't proud that's what made him realize his feelings for his best friend. Even worse, his best friend three years his junior.</p><p>Though with Yuri, Otabek always feels like he's the one trailing behind, gazing up, looking for reassurance. Even before Yuri surpassed him in height by an easy inch or two.</p><p>“Less than seven hours,” Otabek corrects Yuri's complaint. He half expects Yuri to yell at a him for being a pedant, but he only looks off to the side, pulls away, and fidgets.</p><p>“Da,” he says softly, almost on a sigh, watching his own feet shuffle. It makes Otabek feel guilty seeing Yuri so deflated. He has every right to be angry with Otabek for violating his trust, his privacy, and his decision. Shouting should fill the space between them the whole ride over, beating Otabek down to put him in his place. It shouldn't matter that Otabek's suitcase is gone. Even if Otabek is royally fucked, Yuri still has a right to be absolutely livid with him.</p><p>They pull up to the hotel and Otabek helps Yuri carry his stuff in, grabbing his shoulder bag while Yuri gingerly carries his costume bag. Otabek wonders why Yakov and Lilia didn't offer to take his costume for him, but stops himself from asking. He doesn't want to annoy Yuri with pointless questions.</p><p>Yuri darts to the shower almost immediately, presumably feeling gross from his Free Skate. Otabek sits on the bed and texts JJ for the duration of Yuri's shower, which is also the duration of his phone battery. He's thankful his passport, wallet, and phone were in his pocket, but allows himself a brief sulk. Why couldn't his figure skates have been casually in his pocket? He's going to have to compete in new skates.</p><p>Less than ideal.</p><p>Yuri comes out of the shower dressed in what Yuri considers pajamas— tight black pants and a cut up band tee. Yuri tousles his wet hair with a towel and sits next to Otabek on his bed, smelling like lavender and something undefinable that Otabek would very much like to roll in naked like the dog he is.</p><p>Yuri gives Otabek a confused look amidst his tousling. “Aren't you going to change?”</p><p>Otabek stares at him blankly, giving one, then two, slow, bored blinks. For the briefest of moments, he wants to punch Yuri in the face and is sickened by his own rage.</p><p>“Gah, sorry!” Yuri exclaims as his cheeks go pink and he resumes drying his hair. Otabek forgives him instantly. It's too easy. “Can't believe I forgot already.”</p><p>“It's alright, Yura, but my phone battery is low.”</p><p>Yuri rummages through his bag, then passes Otabek his charger without a word. Otabek is thankful they have similar enough phones to share chargers. It's almost planned, at this point, how synced they are in upgrading their devices. It makes sense given that the bulk of their friendship happens over the internet.</p><p>It's easy being here with Yuri. It always is. They sit next to each other on Otabek's bed, backs against the headboard, shoulders pressed together. Yuri's the only person Otabek has ever been able to share close proximity with that doesn't make him feel like he's just here to be used. Most people are only willing to get close to him when they want some kind of pleasure from him.</p><p>They're only halfway through an episode of something stupid about storage units and money when Yuri suddenly asks him a question. “You want to borrow some clothes?”</p><p>Otabek watches Yuri's body as he reaches for his bag. He specifically watches the way that, even for pajamas, Yuri somehow still opts for form-fitting clothing that clings to his body in all the right ways. “Sure,” Otabek says, knowing full well that nothing in Yuri's wardrobe will fit him.</p><p>“I have something baggy in the bottom,” Yuri says, then pulls what looks to Otabek like a shrinky dink pair of his sweatpants he lost almost 3 years ago after Internationaux de France.</p><p>Another competition he'd roomed with Yuri for.</p><p>Otabek stands to hold the sweatpants over himself. “These almost look familiar,” he deadpans.</p><p>“Those were yours!?” Yuri exclaims, looking positively affronted by the mere suggestion of thievery. “I washed them with all the rest of my normal clothes!”</p><p>“These were incredibly expensive,” Otabek comments. He inspects the tag and shows it to Yuri, adorned in Kazakh Cyrillic script that reads MADE IN KAZAKSTAN – HAND WASH ONLY.</p><p>“How was I supposed to know a pair of plain black sweatpants were yours?” Yuri complains, swatting the tag away. Not like he can read it anyway.</p><p>“It wasn't suspicious when you discovered too-large sweatpants with Cyrillic script after sharing a room with me?” Otabek pries, drinking in the pink blush on Yuri's cheeks. Yuri is a tall, elegant man with strong, meaty thighs and a lean torso. Something about putting a blush on top of all that makes Otabek's insides flip and turn.</p><p>“Get your stupid pants out of my face and onto your big, fat body,” Yuri grumbles, throwing pillows at Otabek way harder than is polite slumber party etiquette. Otabek is tempted to tease him more, but resists. Otabek has always been shy, bottling a lifetime worth of personality that all threatens to spill forth upon Yuri.</p><p>Otabek excuses himself to the restroom. He isn't sure when exactly he started excusing himself to change his clothes in private. He and Yuri used to share a room and change in front of one another frequently, but over the past year or so Otabek has felt uncomfortable being exposed in front of Yuri.</p><p>Yuri, on the other hand, never stopped. Otabek simply looks away with quiet patience each time until Yuri has finished. He doesn't have permission to look at Yuri the way he wants to.</p><p>The sweatpants still fit, but nothing like he remembers. They hug a little tightly on his ass and his calf muscles bulk against the fabric when he moves, but they do fit. He's just more accustomed to baggy sweats.</p><p>A fist bangs briskly on the restroom door. Yuri cracks the door just enough to pop his arm in, holding out a t-shirt. Otabek accepts the shirt silently and then the door closes once more.</p><p>While Otabek isn't sure when he first started changing in privacy, he knows <i>exactly</i> when Yuri started respecting his privacy. It was two years ago, after Yuri waltzed into the bathroom while Otabek stood wet and vulnerable in a transparent glass shower.</p><p>And Otabek <i>yelled</i> at Yuri.</p><p>Perhaps not yelled. But to Otabek, it felt like yelling. Especially compared to the gentle, easy way his words usually slip from his tongue whenever Yuri is concerned.</p><p>The t-shirt Yuri offered fits decidedly less well. He looks like a man transforming into a beast, his human shirt no longer able to suffice. He commits to the shirt anyway, thinking it might be moderately amusing.</p><p>The lamp next to Yuri's bed glows a soft dusty orange in the dark of the room, mixing with the light of the full moon spilling through the window. Yuri is already tucked into the covers, scrolling through something on his phone with a look of indifference. </p><p>But when he looks up at Otabek, his face is anything but indifferent. His mouth falls open slightly as he looks at Otabek, but not because of the shirt. Yuri's eyes are decidedly focused on his legs, traveling down where they hug tightly along his muscle. The look in Yuri's eyes is mischievous and hungry, but Otabek brushes it off. Otabek knows he can't be that for Yuri— a sexual partner and best friend packaged into one.</p><p>“Yura?” Otabek interrupts Yuri's gawking, feeling hot and anguished under his gaze.</p><p>Yuri's eyes move up to his face, brushing over the shirt. “Oh my god, Beka!” Yuri brings a hand to his mouth to stifle a bubble of laughter. He glances away for a second, looks back to Otabek, then laughs long and loud. It's a high, cackling laughter that rings in Otabek's ears like too many wind-chimes in a rainstorm. It's not long until Yuri's rolling around on the bed, unable to stop himself, gasping for breaths. “Beka- you look... so... stupid!”</p><p>Otabek laughs a bit to himself, looking down the expanse of his own body. He notices his sweatpants are cuffed up too high on one side and bends down to fix them.</p><p>A loud, angry rip echoes through the room. Otabek freezes, but Yuri just laughs harder and harder. Otabek's fingers trace over the massive hole he's ripped into the back of Yuri's shirt.</p><p>“You ripped my shirt, asshole!” Yuri reprimands him when his laughing subsides. Otabek smiles. It's a genuine smile that turns up both corners of his mouth. Times like these are the only times it emerges— when he's alone with Yuri so openly free and careless, sparkling green eyes looking at Otabek like he's the only thing Yuri's ever wanted to look at.</p><p>Otabek removes the ruined shirt, throws it to the floor, and dives under the covers quickly to hide from Yuri's alluring scrutiny.</p><p>Yuri calms down, settles into bed, and clicks the light off. “Asshole,” he repeats affectionately, a sigh in his voice.</p><p>The soft din of television chatter from the room beside them seeps through the walls. It's low enough to be comforting, almost like white noise as Otabek feels the weight of sleep blanket over him.</p><p>“Can we do the thing?” Yuri asks quietly. It's so quiet that Otabek almost thinks he didn't hear it— almost considers <i>pretending</i> he didn't hear it. The soft shuffle of sheets fills his ears, much louder than the television. Otabek glances over and Yuri is watching him, laid on his side with his head propped on one hand. His hair glows against the moon's blue light pouring in through the window behind him. </p><p>The thing. They've never talked about the thing, and yet, Otabek knows exactly what the thing is. Yuri's face is too shadowed to check his expression, so Otabek just lifts his blanket, inviting Yuri in. </p><p>Though he can't read Yuri's features in the lighting, his body language is buzzing as he dives under the covers and snuggles against him, warm and unyielding. Otabek can feel Yuri's cold fingers against his bare chest, his hot breath drifting over his collar bone. He wraps his arms around Yuri.</p><p>No number of gold medals could ever compare to the feeling of Yuri's skin against him. His soft breath and nervous hummingbird heart beat lull Otabek as they allow the world to stop moving. Skating loops into the background, a softened tune that allows a different song to come forward, to fill their souls in a way both essential and terrifying.</p><p>“I want to come to Canada,” Yuri says softly, still almost unheard despite their proximity.</p><p>Otabek lets out a soothing hum, threading his fingers through Yuri's now-dried hair. He inhales deeply, taking in Yuri's warm scent that he would topple mountains for.</p><p>“Dedushka needs me,” Yuri sighs, the weight of his helplessness to the insurmountable process of aging draping heavy on his shoulders.</p><p>“Sleep, Yura,” Otabek says softly, a deep rumble from his chest that comes out mostly on his swallowed breath. Yuri snuggles into him, fit perfectly into the space Otabek will always leave for him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1- JJ has spent a good bit of time in Toronto lately and picked up some of the lingo because I have a friend from Toronto. That's literally it.</p><p>2- <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2018%E2%80%9319_ISU_Grand_Prix_of_Figure_Skating">I'm basically following the 2018 season schedule</a> with some liberties if it helps you sort the timeline out in your own head. The year is 20XX.<br/>America- Yuri<br/>Canada- Otabek<br/>Rostelecom- Yuri &amp; Otabek<br/>GPF (Canada)<br/>World Championships (Japan)</p><p>3- 100% assuming Otabek is ethnically Kazakh for this fic (though it's extremely possible that he's ethnically Korean).<br/>Kazakh: language<br/>Kazakh: ethnicity<br/>Kazakhstani: nationality</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing.</p><p>It's like every other time they've done <i>the thing.</i> They wake to the screech of Otabek's alarm, smile awkwardly, and gather their things.</p><p>They linger in the hushed area of the airport just before TSA, chatting quietly in a sea of people napping until their gates are announced. It isn't wise in the heat of the competitive season, but they share overpriced neon-buttered popcorn and an overly indulgent bag of M&amp;Ms. They part on a chaste hug that flutters in Otabek's stomach before heading to their respective terminals. </p><p>Otabek already aches to be with Yuri again. His heart hammers with the urge to run through the airport and stop a plane, straight out of one of those silly books he used to devour one after another. A retired guilty pleasure.</p><p>If Otabek had a suitcase, he'd be happy to zip his heart up inside of it.</p><p>As Otabek waits to board his flight, he tucks himself into a row of chairs, lying down to rest his tired body every bit he can. A female voice crackles on the intercom to announce departing flights, butchering the names of many languages.</p><p>“ZAIR-uh NAH-jer, please make your way to gate three. ZAIR-uh NAH-jer, Gate three, please.”</p><p><i>Zahra Najjar,</i> Otabek corrects inwardly, letting loose an amused huff. The hard plastic is cold through his thin sweater and he winces, then nods kindly to a clumsy-lipsticked woman when she affords him a judgmental glare.</p><p>His phone buzzes and he allows himself just one look. Battery conservation is of utmost importance until he gets to Canada. A message from his sister, Umida, reads “Package!”. He can practically hear her bell chime voice, high-toned and hurried. </p><p>The attachment is a photo of a brand new turntable on his collector's shelf, poised next to a disturbingly enthused patchwork teddy bear. </p><p>Umida tends to open and organize his packages for him when he's away. His privacy is a squabble he's long given up on.</p><p>It's an extravagant gift. For what occasion? From whom? Otabek texts Yuri.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 3:24</b><br/>
Did you send me a package?</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 3:25</b><br/>
stupid question. I was with you this whole time</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 3:25</b><br/>
Look at this. (Attachment)</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 3:26</b><br/>
damn that looks expensive beka</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 3:26</b><br/>
looks like I have competition</p><p>Otabek snickers at the mere suggestion, catching another irritated look from the woman seated across from him.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 3:26</b><br/>
Never.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 3:26</b><br/>
whatever</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 3:26</b><br/>
so you have your first super fan </p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 3:26</b><br/>
big whoop</p><p>Otabek smiles to himself, charmed by Yuri's insecure dismissal.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 3:27</b><br/>
Sure. Safe flight, Yura.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 3:27</b><br/>
👍</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>•••••••••••••••••••••••</p>
</div><p>“Otabek! Over here!”</p><p>He finds JJ waiting for him in a grand atrium, windows lighting up the room with an early morning glow. It's far too bright for Otabek's current head space. His hand grabs reflexively for a suitcase handle that isn't there, flicking through empty air. It's a strange feeling, Otabek muses, to fly with almost nothing on hand.</p><p>JJ is with his wife, Isabella, as they hold up a cardboard sign that reads 'Otabeka' in elegant black cursive. He wonders if the sign is a joke or an honest botch of his pet name.</p><p>The proud, Canadian pair is dressed like they were caught out on an unexpected favor at the airport on their way to a fashion shoot. They shuffle him into a flashy blue sports car. The scent of a pine fresh hang tag on the rear view mirror envelops him. Isabella apologizes that it's too cold to put the top down. Otabek thanks her anyway.</p><p>It's his first time meeting up with a skater at the airport that isn't Yuri, but it's not unpleasant. In theory, he can relax and allow the locals to take care of the travel and shopping logistics. </p><p>If only he wasn't on the brink of a stress-induced explosion, this might actually be pleasant.</p><p>They park the car along a narrow street of shops in downtown Montreal, opting to walk a few blocks to break up the mundanity of driving from store to store. The streets are lined with colored buildings sporting short stairs and raised, circular window fronts. Cars pass with slow Sunday puffs of air. Stress grips Otabek as his thoughts pace faster than his feet carry him.</p><p>Otabek has worked too long and hard to fail this season. He's in what is possibly the peak of his career and can't afford to botch this competition. No judge is going to care that his skates were stolen. No fan is going to be excited to see his knees hit the ice five time in one program.</p><p>What if he fails? Fails his family, his country, and his sponsors. He could <i>lose</i> his sponsors. And then what? Ask his family to fund his silly little pet project for a few more years like a spoiled boy?</p><p>No. This is his moment and he isn't giving up.</p><p>“I know you have a lot to do, but you hafta feel the ambiance of Quebec!!” JJ boasts.</p><p>Otabek has been to Quebec before, but he nods, allowing JJ to have his fun. JJ's energy soaks into him, keeping his own sour attitude afloat. He thinks of the quiet, peaceful pride that fills him with warmth when he plays tour guide for Yuri in Almaty. He understands JJ's excitement well enough.</p><p>They bring him to a skate shop downtown. He's humbled by some price tags, which comes at a surprise. The discrepancy in the price of goods compared to his home country rarely shell shocks Otabek's wealthy, well-traveled senses. Perhaps he's been home for too long.</p><p>It's irrelevant, anyway. There is no budget for the occasion today. This is his first grand prix of the season and, for his Free Skate in particular, it is designed literally <i>for Yuri.</i> And Yuri knows it.</p><p>So be it. Life marches on.</p><p>“What do you think of this?” Otabek asks, uncertain with himself as he peels back the fitting room curtain in yet another outfit. </p><p>JJ laughs.</p><p>They only have so many options in his size, but fortunately, JJ has taken the favor very seriously. The garments are mostly glittered black and muted browns with pops of shimmer and color, communicating that JJ tried his best to match Otabek's style. There is a tailor on-site everywhere they go— for a fee, of course. The price is worth the piece of mind.</p><p>Otabek muses over the suitcase thief's unveiling. Would they be overjoyed or disappointed to find figure skating gear and a dog-eared paperback copy of <i>The Brothers Karamazov</i> in Russian?</p><p>The costume Otabek tries next is a candidate for his Free Skate. Yuri's Skate. His former costume had been commissioned to resemble Yuri's 'Welcome to the Madness' costume and Otabek wants to find the closest thing possible. The first time Yuri sees the performance needs to be unforgettable.</p><p>Isabella politely rejects all of the costumes he tries.</p><p>Heads turn everywhere they go, marveling or sniveling at their flashy car and immoderate clothing. JJ and Isabella don't seem to notice. They zip around to meet with a few independent skate shops, tucked neatly into annexes and second-story attachments with narrow stairwell entries.</p><p>Otabek settles on a handful of clothes and essential items. He's thankful he isn't just starting out his career and has the funds to recover from this major set back with some dignity.</p><p>“That looks absolutely ridiculous on you,” JJ bursts at another costume, barely holding back his signature boisterous laughter.</p><p>“I don't know...” Isabella says. “It's very different for you, but it isn't such a bad costume, is it, JJ?”</p><p>“Nah, I guess not, not really,” JJ decides. “But seriously, it's SO not you.”</p><p>Otabek reflects on a time when Yuri did something that was “so not him.” Agape. And it won him a gold at his senior debut and, quite literally, became the basis for his entire self-image.</p><p>He turns to look over himself in the mirror once more. From a distance, the shirt almost resembles a dyed leather jacket, but as soon as he moves, the air flows freely through the fabric, allowing for a dull flutter and breezy presence.</p><p>Not quite what he was going for with this program, but it's dark-toned, moderately masculine, fits him well, and it's the most tolerable option, so it's just dandy.</p><p>He's more attached to the Short Program costume. It's a handsome solid black with white sleeves and a striking red and silver triangle cutting from hip to shoulder, cresting on his middle. Just a pop of the same pattern graces the other shoulder and Otabek is in love. Even more perfect for his Short Program than the old costume was.</p><p>“That one looks very Kazakh,” Isabella comments sweetly.</p><p>Otabek doesn't quite see how. It certainly looks like it <i>could</i> be inspired by the aesthetic of the generally Turkic-influenced cultures, but he has trouble matching it to his own experience. </p><p>“Thank you,” Otabek decides to say instead of contesting the comment. It's innocent enough.</p><p>He's most stressed about the skates. JJ has a worn-in pair for him already waiting, plus he picks up a new pair from one of the shops they visit. His head pounds with dread as he slides his card to the cashier, the plastic cold and final in his fingers.</p><p>They depart from their final stop, over a thousand Canadian dollars of merchandise in their bags and none the poorer for it. Otabek wonders what Yuri would say to this. How much would he complain about the shameless display of wealth? The absolute disregard for price tags? Yuri is rich people now too, of course, but unlike Otabek it hasn't always been that way for Yuri.</p><p>“Would it be strange if I named my kid something Kazakh?” Isabella asks as they walk, “Otabek is such a nice name.” </p><p>The question is sudden and without context. Otabek hadn't realized Isabella was so <i>interested</i> in Kazakhstan, but today she's more obvious than she probably realizes in her uncertainty on the most polite way to engage with his culture.</p><p>“My name is Uzbek,” Otabek answers flatly, distracted with a different task. His eyes scan the stores they pass for any final shopping stops. </p><p>“Really?” JJ pipes up, his voice more curious than Otabek currently has the patience for. “Why?”</p><p>One of Otabek's hobby-mechanic pet projects back home (when he isn't pouring his entire being into skating) is fixing up a vintage bike. It's nearly impossible to find the parts for it without visiting obscure mechanic hobby shops, but the bike is a Western manufacturer and Montreal is a strong candidate for having at least one such shop.</p><p>Otabek spots what he's been looking for, nestled quietly between two clothing boutiques. </p><p>“Another time,” Otabek dismisses with finality. He's certain JJ won't press the issue— the sun is sinking behind the horizon and JJ has his own competition to prepare for over the next couple of days.</p><p>Besides, Otabek is certain none of them currently have the mental energy for a complex discussion about cultural blends, languages, and so on and so forth. It's a discussion Otabek dodges unless he has ample time and a few drinks at his disposal. He tends to get “preachy,” according to Yuri.</p><p>The shop is small and crowded with parts, smelling of dust and grease. It's comfortable.</p><p>Though Otabek doesn't find the part, he has a pleasant discussion with the shop owner about North American motorcycles. They discuss part sourcing and share photos of bikes they've fixed up over the years until the owner apologetically ushers him away to close for the day.</p><p>He adds the man on social and calls for a taxi, heading to the hotel he's booked nearby.</p><p>His phone rings as soon as he's finished showering and he's surprised to see it's Yuri.</p><p>
  <i>What are you doing right now?</i>
</p><p>Otabek checks the time and deduces that Yuri must have arrived in Russia by now— possibly even Saint Petersburg.</p><p>“Arriving at my hotel room,” Otabek answers easily, relieved to speak Russian again after a day full of English. He doesn't dislike English like Yuri does. He's exceptionally good at it, given the amount of time he's spent in this part of the world, but he finds it less mentally taxing to speak Russian or Kazakh. Or even Arabic. Though he is irrefutably less fluent in Arabic than English, it takes more familiar shapes on his tongue.</p><p>
  <i>I'm stuck in Moscow. Might as well have driven all the way to Saint Petersburg at this point. Stupid Russia.</i>
</p><p>“I'd like to make that drive sometime,” Otabek offers, then adds. “And at least it isn't America.”</p><p>
  <i>You're right about that.</i>
</p><p>Otabek can hear Yuri's wicked pout through the phone and, even when he can't see it, knows he'd love to kiss it.</p><p>
  <i>Anyway I wanted to know if you've found anything for the competition.</i>
</p><p>“I have.”</p><p>
  <i>Good.</i>
</p><p>Otabek isn't particularly good at phone conversations if there isn't something clear to discuss. Yuri has his ups and downs. Sometimes he calls Otabek every single day, buzzing over new music or grumbling about the things Yakov or Mila say at practice. </p><p>But more often, they have these conversations, where they don't say much of anything but somehow come out of the call more alive than before.</p><p>
  <i>Hey, Beka...</i>
</p><p>Otabek thinks maybe he misjudged this conversation— that Yuri has something specific he wants to address.</p><p>
  <i>About the thing. I didn't cross like a boundary or something?</i>
</p><p>Otabek takes a deep breath and wonders who got into Yuri's head. Boundary checking has never been a part of Yuri's relationship with him. The word “boundary” is not even really in Yuri's vocabulary, but it's never been an issue for Otabek. It would be a waste of time for Otabek to even try to place boundaries between them.</p><p>Just one flicker of Yuri's determined green eyes would tear it all away.</p><p>Otabek hears his own voice before he's even decided what to say, quick and curt. “Not at all, Yura.”</p><p>He hears Yuri huff with frustration on the other line. He wishes Yuri was here with him so he could see him. Much like when he's on the ice, so much of what Yuri says is with just his body. Otabek finds it difficult to decipher precisely what his words mean without watching them fall from his mouth.</p><p>
  <i>Oh. Okay.</i>
</p><p>Otabek wants to offer him more. He knows he should tell him the truth. The thing is more than fine. It is rejuvenating and irreplaceable. He wishes he could have Yuri in his arms always, whenever he so much as breathes in his direction. Each time they touch, a million colors fill his lungs and warm his heart. He hates when they're on different sides of the world.</p><p>But what happened at Skate America is a fresh reminder of why Otabek can't have these feelings for Yuri. Yuri respects Otabek as both a friend and a competitive threat. Otabek rewards this by consistently failing to show Yuri basic decency. The fate of the note in Yuri's bag was his decision to make, not Otabek's.</p><p>Otabek drums his fingers on the wall by his head, thinking through Yuri's sudden interrogation. <i>The thing</i> happens enough that it could be considered a pattern. He can't even count the number of times over the years they've ended up in each other's arms, but he can easily count the number of times they've acknowledged it, because today brings the tally to a resounding <i>one</i>.</p><p>He longs for a time when his feelings for Yuri were simpler to parse. Looking at Yuri was once unpolluted. Touching Yuri used to be pure.</p><p>
  <i>Nevermind. Stupid. Forget I said anything.</i>
</p><p>“I like having you in my arms,” Otabek says quick but steady despite his heart pounding. He curses himself for waiting too long to respond.</p><p>
  <i>Whatever.</i>
</p><p>Yuri sounds small and embarrassed. Otabek reminds himself for the hundredth time that Yuri is one of the greatest skaters in the world, a glistening flood-gated river crashing over a world of drought. Yuri deserves everything good. He doesn't deserve feeling guilty for inevitably hurting Otabek.</p><p>“Be sure to watch my Free Skate,” Otabek says instead, his lips a tight line.</p><p>
  <i>Only after I watch your Short Program, obviously.</i>
</p><p>The corner of Otabek's lips twitch with a smile. “Good night, Yura.”</p><p>Otabek waits for a reply, but only hears the click of Yuri quietly hanging up after a prolonged hesitation. </p><p>Yuri is sure to be the death of him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's five in the morning and Otabek can't sleep. He's nervous about how little he's practiced. JJ's used skates hadn't worked out (predictable, really), so he's been attempting to <i>very carefully</i> break in his new pair, fearful of risking wet, open blisters during a competition.</p><p>Otabek calls room service, beckoning food to push down past the knot in his throat. The other skaters are likely still getting much needed rest just across the thin hotel walls or hitting the ice for some final hours of practice. Neither is really an option for Otabek.</p><p>A knock comes to the door right as Otabek pulls his shirt over his head. A short woman with pinned brown hair enters carrying breakfast and a fold-out table. She wishes him good morning as she sets the items next to his bed.</p><p>“It looks like you left something outside your room last night?” she states with the lilt of a question, smiling in 4-star hotel fashion. Amelia flashes on her name tag as the lamp light hits it.</p><p>Otabek's brain stalls. <i>Did</i> he leave anything outside? It's not impossible. His head has barely been on his shoulders this week.</p><p>“Thank you for informing me,” Otabek feels obligated to say as he ventures over. The heavy metal of the door groans upon opening and Otabek finds two black and silver-bladed shoes innocently propped against the door frame.</p><p>
  <i>His skates.</i>
</p><p>The gold and brown vines of the tacky hotel carpet tangle at Otabek's feet. His eyes rake over the harmless equipment as he feels his heart beat in his ears. Who the fuck? Why the fuck? <i>How</i> the <i>fuck?</i></p><p>Amelia politely clears her throat somewhere behind him. He's blocking the doorway, frozen in place, brain churning the information. The way he sees it, someone has A. stolen his skates, B. followed him to Canada (?), and C. <i>located his hotel room to return them.</i></p><p>There is no note attached, which Otabek isn't sure whether to interpret as a display of shame or confidence on the part of the thief.</p><p>“Is there something else I can help with?” Amelia asks assertively and Otabek realizes he's still blocking the doorway.</p><p>“No, ma'am,” Otabek says quickly, stepping out of the way and picking up his skates. They're exactly as he last saw them. Otabek's blood runs cold as Amelia flicks her eyes between the skates and Otabek's face with a furrowed brow. </p><p>“Thank you for your help,” Otabek adds, dismissing her politely.</p><p>“My pleasure,” Amelia smiles uncomfortably before leaving.</p><p>Otabek shuts and locks the door behind him with a heavy clunk. Hard, stubby carpet itches his thighs as he sinks to a heap in the floor, cradling his skates like delicate glass sculptures. </p><p>After nervously inspecting his skates, he slips his fingers in and pokes gingerly for abnormalities. Perhaps the thought of sabotage is fueled by paranoia, but paranoia is better than a cold razor blade slipping sharp through his skin.</p><p>He slips his feet into the skates with a sigh of relief on his lips and a chill of horror down his spine. The curves of his feet nestle comfortably into worn grooves, erasing any shred of doubt that these skates belong to him. Remain calm. Deep breaths. Slow the heart rate. Someone didn't necessarily <i>follow him,</i> he reasons. It wouldn't be impossible to expedite the skates to Canada, have someone show up at the hotel where almost all of the skaters stay, and ask room service to drop them off at his door.</p><p>Possible, but not simple, and it's still an undeniably unsettling thing to do.</p><p>Otabek slips back into his normal shoes and texts his coach. It's due time to get in some better practice before the competition.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>•••••••••••••••••••••••</p>
</div>Otabek watches JJ skate his Short Program from the sidelines with a new feeling of kinship toward the man. The urge to shout good luck itches at him, but he suppresses the impulse for fear that Yuri might catch it on stream and never speak to him again.<p>JJ skates like a gladiator. He is relentless, popping multiple quads throughout his program. His step sequence is like an army of a hundred men, his skates like sharp blades in battle. The crowd cheers like they're not at a figure skating competition at all, but a death match.</p><p>The signature 'JJ style' pose makes its appearance. The kiss and cry features his parents gushing over him. Otabek is bounding across the ice just before his program when he hears JJ's score over the loudspeakers, slotting him right into first place.</p><p>JJ's beaten his personal best <i>again</i> this year, only this time skating in his home country. What a start to the season for him.</p><p>Otabek doesn't let fellow competitors get under his skin. He skates his Short Program almost flawlessly, over-rotating only once, but his base value just isn't high enough and he doesn't think well enough on the fly to even consider a modification. He'll need to make adjustments before Rostelecom to keep up with the competition.</p><p>Otabek finishes the Short Program in second place with his feet on fire. He can only imagine the state of his feet if he hadn't miraculously acquired his skates.</p><p>Yuri bombards him with an excessive flurry of praise for his nearly flawless program. </p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:53</b><br/>
fuck beka</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:53</b><br/>
I'm so excited to see you do that again at Rostelecom</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:53</b><br/>
and the GPF</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:53</b><br/>
only better, because I know you</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:56</b><br/>
fuck I just watched it again and that quad lutz was like porn on ice</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 19:02</b><br/>
ok I know you're busy but I just watched it 2 more times</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 19:02</b><br/>
and that over rotation was bullshit</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 19:03</b><br/>
like obviously not a great goe but wtf they gave you a 4Lo&lt;&lt; +REP instead of an over-rotation on your 3Lo like what were they high on??</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 19:03</b><br/>
who in jjs posse paid them off??</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 19:03</b><br/>
and obviously your fucking skate got caught in that ice canyon</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 19:03</b><br/>
like</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 19:03</b><br/>
did the zamboni call out sick because that ice looked like shit</p><p>Otabek reads over the flurry of messages fondly.</p><p>This is one of the things he loves about Yuri— the understanding that Otabek already knows he must modify the program. The fact that Yuri feels no need to point out the obvious and offer advice about increasing his base score going forward. He respects Otabek as a formidable, knowledgeable, and skilled competitor.</p><p>He also bitches about the scoring only to Otabek, which is cute.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 20:24</b><br/>
You're not being very sportsman like, Yura.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:24</b><br/>
shut up you know I'm right</p><p>Yuri is even more abuzz the following day when Otabek finishes his Free Skate, wraps up interviews, and takes silver at the podium. Otabek checks his phone after interviews to see 43 unread messages from a slew of people, but hyper-focuses only on the 2 missed calls from Yuri.</p><p>Yuri answers on the second ring, loud and excited.</p><p>
  <i>How the hell did you skate like that?</i>
</p><p>“Familiar skates,” Otabek answers.</p><p>
  <i>What?</i>
</p><p>“My skates were delivered,” Otabek says. “They were sitting outside of my hotel room yesterday morning.”</p><p>
  <i>What the fuck, Beka, you didn't tell me that! That's fucking creepy.</i>
</p><p>“Mm,” Otabek affirms. Creepy is one term for it, but Otabek thinks 'spine-chillingly violating' fits the bill a little better.</p><p>
  <i>Your costume was perfect by the way.</i>
</p><p>Yuri practically breathes the words into the phone, his voice prickling down Otabek's spine. Otabek knows instantly that he can't change his costume back to the original. Not after Yuri's voice was so sticky with sex over the new one.</p><p>He chats briefly with Yuri, then hangs up to prepare to attend the banquet. JJ wants to hang out with him there and Otabek is finding it easier to admit to himself that he enjoys the man's brotherly energy.</p><p>Otabek chooses an outfit from the three he currently has. It'll do. He groans in pain as he slips into his shoes. Damn, he's really messed his feet up.</p><p>The banquet is always comfortable. Classy, but never too stuffy. Heels and suits, easy laughs. Red curtains drape the walls. Tulip glasses of freshly-poured champagne bubble atop golden tablecloths, but Obtaek knows from experience how easy it is to ask a staff member to bring some inconspicuous flutes of beer.</p><p>JJ claps him on the back as soon as he finds him, a little harder than necessary.</p><p>“If you weren't skating in such shaky boots, Altin, you just might've beaten me!” JJ boasts.</p><p>Otabek nods. He's already congratulated JJ on his gold medal twice now and he doesn't intend to do it again. He takes the statement as high praise from JJ. Though JJ had beaten his personal best in his Short Program, he clipped some elements of his Free Skate and only took gold over Otabek by three points.</p><p>He also has no intention of informing JJ that his skates were spontaneously returned to his doorstep. Dealing with his own problems is kind of Otabek's thing and he's asked enough favors of JJ to last a lifetime.</p><p>Otabek bides his time at the banquet. Some people dance. He's always waiting for things to get outlandish at one of these boring networking socials. He's tired of only hearing about that legendary banquet where Katsuki stole Victor's heart— when everyone got naked on a stripper pole. Or whatever actually happened that night. It's still unclear to Otabek.</p><p>An uneventful banquet, a short sleep, and a long flight later, Otabek is back in Almaty. </p><p>He's entranced, as he always is, by the elegant sight of skyscrapers dwarfed by the white-dappled Alatau mountain peaks. A calm washes over him as his plane begins to descend, only minutes now from the crisp air and native tongues that make this place home. Nothing compares to riding along the familiar two-lane Kazakhstani through-roads past mountaintops and sparkling lakes, even as winter fast approaches.</p><p>Otabek loves Almaty. And for all that he loves it, he's spent a lot of his life <i>not</i> there, and the heart longs most for what it has least been permitted to love.</p><p>The family home is south of the quickly modernizing city center, towards the Kyrgyzstan border in a grand, gated villa. Sometimes he feels guilty for his privilege, but he wouldn't trade the comfortable proximity to Medeu ice rink— nestled into the breathtaking Ile-Alatau peaks that define Almaty— for the world.</p><p>He pulls up to his family home in a plain taxi and grabs a few packages left outside to bring in. Large gold and blue gates creak open. They've been expecting him, after all.</p><p>Umida greets him with a warm, open hug on the front garden terrace.</p><p>“Congratulations once again,” Umida says with questionable flatness in her tone. Her lavender head scarf billows lightly in the cool mountain breeze, her large brown eyes looking up at him with fondness and admiration.</p><p>“Please, Umida, it's only silver,” Otabek remarks dryly, meeting her tone.</p><p>"Exactly,” Umida says, flashing a wicked smile. <i>”Again.”</i></p><p>Otabek only smirks at her teasing.</p><p>“Oh, I've missed you,” Umida relents with a sigh, ushering him into the house. The familiar smell of home swirls around him, black pepper and fresh flowers hitting the back of his tongue on a deep inhale.</p><p>After the family shares a meal surrounded by the felt tapestry of his ancestors, they take to the foyer to proudly hang his silver medal alongside the others he's collected. They congratulate him once more and then Otabek retires to his room with his two packages. </p><p>One he's been expecting. It's an external battery to charge his phone. Video calling so often really does a number on his battery and he wants to remedy how often he rejects a call from Yuri when he's at the rink or ambling around town.</p><p>The second package is unexpected and he's a little nervous to open it. There is no shipping label— only a thick, sloppy scrawling of his name in jet black marker. His new turntable sits on a shelf with his record collection next to the patchwork bear plushie. Watching him. It makes him uneasy.</p><p>Inside the box is a smaller, much fancier box. He opens it delicately, discarding a green bow and lifting the lid. The card is innocent enough. It reads, in perfect Kazakh Latin script, “CONGRATS ON SILVER! Heard you could use this. Love, your biggest fan.”</p><p>The paper crinkles under his fingers as he peels it back to find a vintage bike part.</p><p>Exactly the vintage bike part he's been on the look for.</p><p>His heart races and he throws the card down, backing up from the package like it may explode. His hands are shaking. He feels ridiculous, but he doesn't understand how (or why) this anonymous person found such a rare item and sent it to his house in such short time. Sure, the journey home took the better part of three days, but the efficiency is unsettling.</p><p>He remembers the shop owner from Montreal posting about the bike part on Instagram and tagging him. It calms him a little. At least the search was public information.</p><p>Once more, he consults the space where a return address would typically be. Blank.</p><p>The delivery address: Blank.</p><p>This was hand delivered. Just like his skates, only this time, it's his <i>house.</i></p><p>Otabek snaps a picture of the situation, sending it to Yuri immediately, no explanation.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:24</b><br/>
so you found that part you're looking for?</p><p>Otabek sighs to himself. Yuri always texts back with an immediacy that is concerning.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 18:24</b><br/>
It was delivered to my family home.</p><p>He looks at the box again, then thinks to clarify.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 18:25</b><br/>
Like the skates.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:25</b><br/>
otabek altin's first angel</p><p>Otabek smiles to himself, appreciating the allusion to Yuri's very dedicated fan girls. He thinks to reply with a joke about <i>Otabek's stalkers,</i> but thinks it too crass.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 18:26</b><br/>
I feel uncomfortable accepting this gift.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:26</b><br/>
it's free shit, beka. Just take it</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:26</b><br/>
hey beka I gotta go</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:26</b><br/>
I'll call you later?</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:26</b><br/>
and yes I know 3 hours</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:26</b><br/>
I won't call you too late, old-timer</p><p>Otabek smiles at the words knowingly, fully expecting a signature three-in-the-morning Yuri Plisetsky video call.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 18:26</b><br/>
Looking forward to it.</p><p>Otabek tries not to let his heart char black when he starts to scroll Instagram. Yuri is entitled to his own life, but it stabs at his heart when he sees Yuri posting selfies on his private, friends-only account with a new guy Otabek's never seen, drinks in their hands and laughs on their lips.</p><p>Otabek doesn't even like social media. He will upload the occasional motorcycle picture or allow Yuri to upload a stoic candid he snuck of him (Yuri has his password— he's the one that made it: KazakhHero1031. He's never claimed to be a master of secure passwords). He mostly likes social media for keeping up with other skaters— and by other skaters, he means mostly just Yuri.</p><p>Otabek stares at the picture of Yuri for an unhealthy amount of time. He's stunning, dressed in a leather jacket and, of course, low-cut tiger print tank. Sunglasses (from earlier in the day, he assumes) rest on his head, pinning his hair in a wild wisp.</p><p>Otabek wishes it wasn't too late for a bike ride. He messages some old friends, offering to go out for drinks. They accept with unabashed enthusiasm. It isn't often that Otabek so willingly offers his company without external pressure. They head over to a pub, their usual haunt, and Otabek allows himself only enough drinks to slow his reactions and ease his tension.</p><p>His feet still ache from practicing in new skates, but it's refreshing to catch up with old friends. Besides, tomorrow is his birthday. Might as well celebrate. Umida comes for only the first hour of the evening and enthusiastically insists on picking him up whenever he's ready to go. What a gem.</p><p>Otabek is home and already drifting off to sleep by the time Yuri calls. Yuri's eyeliner is smudged, his hair fussed in several different directions, and it's breathtaking.</p><p><i>Happy birthday, Beka!</i> Yuri beams at him, cross-legged on his bed where he sits in front of his laptop, pale skin peeking from the low cut of his shirt, bare arms resting on his knees. Otabek turns his bedside light on. The corner of his phone screen reads 2:55.</p><p>“Thank you, Yura,” he smiles softly, yawning away sleep and alcohol.</p><p><i>I have a surprise for you!</i> Yuri cheers, bouncing lightly on the bed with excitement. </p><p>Otabek is fresh out of a raunchy dream and would like to meet Yuri's bouncing by straddling his lap.</p><p>
  <i>Or it was supposed to be a surprise, but the logistics are a pain, so...</i>
</p><p>Otabek already sees where this is going, but lets him continue anyway. Yuri's sharp, pretty collar bone peeks from his tank top sleeve.</p><p>
  <i>I'm flying to Almaty tomorrow!</i>
</p><p>It's the greatest gift he could have never asked for.</p><p>“For how long will you be staying?” Otabek asks. The Rostelecom Cup, to which they are both assigned, is only a short sixteen days away and they both need to focus on practice.</p><p>Plus, it's in Russia. So why is Yuri flying all the way to Almaty when he's already in Russia?</p><p>Because he's an adorable little fool that wants to spend a birthday together. Even though Otabek doesn't really care for his own birthday.</p><p>But Otabek is over the moon for it, anyway.</p><p><i>When are you flying to Russia?</i> Yuri's tone is bratty, like he's disappointed that Otabek— three-words-and-a-grunt-should-be-enough-to-convey-emotions Otabek— didn't immediately indulge in a celebratory cartwheel.</p><p>“Six days,” he informs Yuri. “I was hoping to spend some time in Saint Petersburg.”</p><p>Yuri's face lights up with a huge grin and pink dusted cheeks. <i>Davai! Great minds think alike, right?</i></p><p>“How is your grandfather?” Otabek asks, concerned Yuri might not be making the best choice leaving Russia again so soon.</p><p>Yuri's face lights up.</p><p>
  <i>He's doing really well right now actually!</i>
</p><p>Otabek smiles with relief. They talk for a bit longer, Otabek walking Yuri through his practice schedule the next few days. Yuri assures Otabek he'll make sure he has a practice schedule for them in Saint Petersburg. </p><p><i>Every day,</i> Yuri asserts. <i>I want you to be in top form when I beat you again at Rostelecom.</i></p><p>When Otabek finally closes his eyes to sleep, he floats through a dream that blends seamlessly from their conversation and reminds him of his Free Skate in two key ways:</p><p>It keeps his skin hot and his breath hurried— all for Yuri.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I'd have greeted you with <i>konakasy</i>, but you're no longer a guest here,” Otabek explains, the Kazakh word a little awkward thrown into a Russian sentence. Yuri just laughs, likely recalling the first time he visited, when Otabek had gone out of his way to offer the traditional low table with a lavish meal of mutton and golden-brown bread, piled upon the table high enough to feed ten.</p><p>Even Otabek can admit, looking back, it was a bit much.</p><p>Meat stew steam and the cozy warmth of rooms wrapped in rugs and tapestries bring Otabek a sense of comfort. It's much needed after the eyes he felt prickle him outside of the airport. He'd felt followed; monitored. With Yuri at his side— loud leopard suitcase and all— feeling exposed has higher stakes and Yuri is all but oblivious to the danger they're in.</p><p>Or that they're not in. It's hard to say, but Otabek certainly <i>feels</i> like he's in danger.</p><p>“What?” Yuri asks, sharp eyes flicking from his stew. Otabek berates himself. Why does he always allow his eyes to rest on Yuri when his mind wanders? </p><p>They're in the room where his family had celebrated the birth of Umida, cousins strumming their dombras late into the clear Spring night. The room where his parents had given him his first pair of 'real' skates (Riedells!) with tickets to train for the summer in America. Where he'd quietly cried out the stress of a horrible ballet class in Moscow.</p><p>Something giddy flits in his chest at seeing Yuri sit here with ease. The feathery wisp of Yuri's hair falls from his bun in a room of tradition. It's a pleasant room, but it's also the room in which Otabek had refused arranged marriage, spilling sticky honey-cardamom tea all over the table. Where Otabek had defended fourteen-year-old Umida when she asked for an abortion. Where a parade of aunts and uncles had tossed a dozen gay slurs around the room when he visited home for holidays because the more feminine of the figure skating men were <i>funny</i>.</p><p>It's a room of traditions both good and bad that Yuri kind of doesn't fit into the picture of, but there's something enchanting about painting a flame under the sea.</p><p>“Why don't you ever tell me about your life?” Yuri fires another question once he assesses that Otabek wasn't going to answer the first. He was, actually, planning to answer the first question. He'd just gotten lost in the pale-gold glow spilling through the curtained windows to pour over Yuri, enwreathed in the space of childhood memories.</p><p>“I do,” Otabek answers. Yuri scoffs and turns back to his meal. Umida is out for the evening and his parents likely won't make an appearance. They seldom do as they're perpetually away on holiday or business trips. Maybe this is the kind of thing Yuri would like to know?</p><p>The clink of Yuri's utensils hitting the bottom of his bowl remind Otabek that he is also supposed to be eating.</p><p>“Tell me about your first boyfriend,” Yuri says suddenly and Otabek nearly chokes on his food before swiftly composing himself. Yuri is quick to share stories about his escapades, but it's never at Otabek's request and he never affords Yuri the same. There isn't much to tell. It's always been pleasant, nestled somewhere far from the realm of hooking up but even further from something particularly special.</p><p>“Matt. A rink-mate in America,” Otabek says. Yuri gives him a look that says <i>And?</i>. Matt was a short boy with bobbed brown hair and bright, blue eyes. He'd invited Otabek over to his house countless times to play video games, where Otabek didn't do much other than lick the taste of bubblegum from his tongue.</p><p>It had been exclusive with Matt, though never discussed, and lasted the better part of a year. After that was Tara, then Ethan, and that brief thing with Heidi and Zhang before a much longer thing with Owen. All people he'd give a strong recommendation for, though he's inclined to leave them off of his own resume. It's all nothing worth discussion. </p><p>“<i>What?</i> Why are you <i>looking</i> at me like that?” Yuri complains, fidgeting obviously in his chair now that he has no food to pretend to be interested in. The shift of his hips under the table as he moves evoke the thought of Yuri behind a thick, dark folding screen; full details not quite seen, but easy to appreciate.</p><p>“Just remembering Matt,” Otabek lies. “I hadn't thought of him in a while.”</p><p>Yuri huffs and drops his spoon loudly into his bowl, arms crossed over his chest and looking off at a tapestry of red and gold; all diamonds and neat lines. Much neater than the shameful desires warring inside of Otabek to either smother Yuri under him or lift him up for worship.</p><p>Something awful lives in Otabek. It slides in his guts— some tangled, writhing worm— and cinches inside his chest, squeezing his lungs until they're squished together and weeping. Sometimes he just wants to swallow Yuri and let the beast devour him.</p><p>“I want to take you somewhere,” Otabek says instead of the dozen things jouncing through his brain that might actually be worth sharing.</p><p>“What,” Yuri says more with attitude than curiosity.</p><p>“A place up the mountain that's important to me,” Otabek explains. It isn't a private spot, but it's the first place Otabek remembers clearing his head when he first battled with his sexuality. Something about the endless babble of the small gorge and the rolling clouds had made him feel small in a way that he'd needed.</p><p>Yuri blinks at him, still slouched back in his chair, arms crossed. He's still dressed in pale sunlight, basked in Almatinian glow.</p><p>“Dress warmly,” Otabek advises as he gathers their plates for washing. Eventually, he hears Yuri stomp up to the guest room, loud enough to be heard over the hiss of the faucet.</p><p>The ride up is healing. The bike hums under him as two, tight arms hook around his waist. He imagines the crinkle of his leather jacket as Yuri hugs tightly on the uphill, drowned under the cranky babble of the bike engine.</p><p>Gorelnik is the perfect spot not only because it's beautiful and actually means something to Otabek, but also because it is fairly vehicle accessible. Yuri doesn't give off very mountaineer vibes.</p><p>On their stroll, Yuri approaches a man, asking clumsily if he could take a picture of the two of them. Otabek listens, charmed by Yuri's attempt at Kazakh before bashfully switching to Russian with a quick apology and a jab at the difficulty of the language. The man laughs and agrees to take their picture. The same stream that had comforted Otabek over ten years ago babbles over the stones behind them as they pose, a speechless capturing of a single moment in time.</p><p>Yuri snaps a few candids of Otabek through their walk: staring off at the horizon, crossing the stream, fixing his hair in the breeze. Otabek is pleasantly surprised with the results. Yuri continuously refers to the casual stroll as a “journey” despite their obvious lack of intent to walk the full trail and Otabek is fairly certain it's only to irritate him.</p><p>“Isn't it getting pretty late?” Yuri asks eventually, shivering in his leather jacket as a soft, orange sunset begins to spread over the sky. Saint Petersburg is generally just as cold (if not, even colder) than Almaty, so Otabek always finds Yuri's reactions to the colder months very cute.</p><p>“Don't worry about it,” Otabek assures him, knowing they still have plenty of relative light left in the day. It's still early enough in the year that they don't have to worry about dangerous road conditions. But as Yuri's shivers intensify, Otabek begins to lead the way back to his bike.</p><p>Though it's a fairly popular spot in Alatau, the experience at the mountain top gorge is intimate. The few people that had ventured up for the day have long since retired home.</p><p>Otabek's bike is almost in sight when Yuri comes to a full stop.</p><p>“Beka,” Yuri says suddenly, hurried and hushed, and the way his voice arrests Otabek sends a shiver down his spine. “What the <i>fuck</i> is that?” he breathes in disbelief.</p><p>Otabek follows Yuri's gaze, just a short distance up the craggy mountainside.</p><p>He almost doesn't see it, almost asks Yuri what he's talking about, but a flash of motion catches his eye. A low, shadowy figure slinks along the rocks, light sandy-gray, walking quietly over a barren rock face, spots blended into shadows.</p><p>“Shit...” Yuri whispers, but his voice is laced with awe. “Is this fucking <i>real?</i>”</p><p>Otabek doesn't <i>do</i> animals. Doesn't trust them. Without thinking, he grabs Yuri's hand, wrapping his cold fingers around Yuri's as if to guide him somewhere, to shelter him from something dangerous.</p><p>“It's okay, Beka,” Yuri says quietly, squeezing Otabek's hand pressed to his palm. “Snow leopards aren't aggressive towards people.” </p><p>Of course Yuri has the knowledge to differentiate the temperament of different big cats. This is <i>Yuri</i>. Otabek's heart flutters as Yuri knows exactly what's happening in Otabek's head. Knows that fear gripped Otabek before even he'd identified the emotion for himself.</p><p>Otabek has seen a snow leopard before, but only once, far up in the wilderness. He's heard rumors of sightings just outside of Almaty all his life, but mostly writes them off as silly tales to entertain.</p><p>Until now.</p><p>The leopard stops in its tracks, turns its head, and stares right at them. It isn't quite close enough to make out every detail, but he can feel its powerful gaze, steady on them, studying their behavior. A long bush of tail raises with a curve and the cat flicks an ear.</p><p>They lose the leopard's attention as easily as they'd gained it. Otabek hears a breathy <i>wow</i> leave Yuri's lips as the cat saunters off, away and out of sight.</p><p>Otabek's heart is still pounding as they stare off at the mountain long after the cat has disappeared, watching the warm watercolor dappled sky silhouette the mountain. His hand is still pressed to Yuri's.</p><p>“This is the greatest day of my life,” Yuri says, still with awe. Yuri shivers when Otabek ghosts his fingertips over his knuckles, but Otabek isn't sure if it's from the cold or his touch.</p><p>“I wish I could say I planned it, Yura,” Otabek says softly. In all honesty, he'd been planning to tell Yuri about the time he came here a confused, gay mess and found comfort in nature. But now he's been sorely out-done by some cat.</p><p>“No, you don't understand,” Yuri says firmly, turning to face Otabek, cupping Otabek's hand between both of his and holding it up between their chests. “This is the <i>greatest day</i> of my fucking <i>life.</i>”</p><p>Otabek flicks his gaze down to their hands, Yuri's fingers warming from the friction they've created. It would be easy, Otabek lies to himself, to forget everything. To forget that Otabek can't have Yuri how he wants him: a shining star everyone admires but only he can reach. He allows himself to pretend that he could leave everything behind on this mountain—his anxieties, the shameful darkness that wants only to claim Yuri— and bring only the love back down with him.</p><p>All he has to do is lean into cold-fogged peppermint breaths and kiss Yuri's soft, shivering lips until they're warm enough to melt the breath frozen in Otabek's lungs.</p><p>It's a pleasant fantasy while it lasts.</p><p>Otabek's heart beats on the ground, next to Yuri's feet, and Yuri can do whatever he wants with it. The daylight is disappearing and Otabek lets another moment slip through his fingers as Yuri suddenly buries his hands in his pockets and jogs in place. “Okay, seriously Beka, it's getting really cold!” he complains. It's still only October. Not so cold, really.</p><p>He follows after anyway.</p><p>Before mounting the bike, Otabek removes his outermost layer and hooks it on Yuri's shoulders, watching Yuri, asking him without words to not make a big deal out of offering his jacket like a proper gentleman and to just get on the bike already.</p><p>They arrive home and Otabek heats up some quick left overs for the scrawny, bottomless pit that is Yuri Plisetsky, then quickly excuses himself back out to the patio.</p><p>“Now? Aspiring to become an ice cube or something?” Yuri grumbles.</p><p>Otabek resists an eye roll, arms crossed over his chest. It's not even below freezing tonight.</p><p>“Aren't you Russian?” Otabek deadpans.</p><p>“Yeah and it's fucking cold there too, okay?” Yuri says around a mouth full of food.</p><p>Yuri's skin is smooth and thin, stretched over long, slender arms. His neck is extended in a column of perfect posture from years of ballet. There's hardly an once of fat on his body— all lean muscles and extended limbs. Perhaps it shouldn't be surprising that Yuri can never keep himself warm.</p><p>Otabek will gladly warm him— with his eyes, his hands— all Yuri has to do is ask.</p><p>It feels wrong. <i>Dirty.</i> Otabek has watched Yuri grow up. He's watched his height shift and his shoulders broaden. He was with Yuri when he'd bought his first beer, then stood by as Yuri dipped his tongue into the mouth of a stranger under a green and blue club beat. Time marches on to mangle Otabek's feelings worse each year.</p><p>Why is it so hard to just remain virtuous?</p><p>The fresh air clarifies, clinging to Otabek's skin as he lingers on the patio to gather his thoughts, hanging his heart in the night to let it air out.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>•••••••••••••••••••••••</p>
</div>Yuri posts a lot of pictures of them together in Almaty and Otabek secretly swells with both pride and moderate anxiety. Yuri may trust the people on his private account, but Otabek sure doesn't.<p>Yuri never runs short on new ways to demand Otabek's heart. He's been stubbornly charging through all of their interactions with locals by whipping out phrasal Kazakh, piecing together different strings of words in an effort to accomplish an intended meaning. <i>[I like]</i> with <i>[you give me]</i> followed by a strong <i>[menu item]</i>. It happens much like this when they visit restaurants, when they take taxis, when they run into people outside of the rink where they practice each day.</p><p>Honestly, Otabek is impressed with the effort. It's occasionally passable, which is outstanding for a foreigner. Kazakh really is not similar to Russian and he finds it charming that Yuri has put in so much effort, especially when he's already fluent in two of the most common languages of Almaty.</p><p>Yuri gets along famously with Otabek's friends when they go for hookah on their final night in town. Otabek partakes rarely, but Yuri is apparently a champion, challenging anyone to blow better rings than him. For a man who jabs Otabek for ruining his athletic career with sips of beer, Yuri sure seems like he's done a fair bit of smoking in his life.</p><p>Yuri ducks his head to the table, puffing out like a mother dragon to create a smoke tornado. Otabek snorts as his friends ooh and ahh, his supposed <i>best</i> friend shooting him those irritating <i>made a move yet?</i> looks.</p><p>Cold air swirls with heat blasted from the gas heaters Yuri gravitated to stand near. The tacky striped lounge chairs dance under a rain of colored lights that catch like confetti in Yuri's tied-back hair. Otabek clears his throat and moves inside, approaching the counter to cover their bill.</p><p>“Your table is already covered,” the boarish man behind the counter informs him.</p><p>Otabek whips his head around, looking for the culprit, but the place is mostly cleared out and closing soon. His friends must have covered it, maybe, or...</p><p>“Can I say no?” Otabek asks almost sheepishly. He's tiny, vulnerable, an infant in a hyena's cage.</p><p>“Jokes!” the man replies with excessive enthusiasm. “Very funny.”</p><p>Otabek heads back to the table, hands shoved in his jacket pockets to hide his shaking. Around them there's just empty tables.</p><p>His friends all thank him for getting the table and Otabek's stomach drops as his arms tingle with goosebumps. He scans through the figures he remembers from earlier in the night. Who is <i>following him?</i></p><p>Otabek's hands are still shaking on the taxi ride home, but Yuri doesn't say a word. Green eyes meet his with a silent question before Yuri purses his lips and leans in. Otabek isn't sure what face he gives back, but it makes Yuri scoot closer to loop an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer.</p><p>The razor edged glances from the taxi driver don't even break the skin.</p><p>Otabek barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning through nightmares of being watched, followed, and helpless when Yuri's in danger. But well rested or not, they must depart together for Russia and kick into practice overdrive. Otabek's coach is already fairly cross with him for slacking a bit right in the height of the season, but he isn't worried since most of what they'll be doing in Saint Petersburg is exactly what his coach hopes: practicing.</p><p>Otabek is a horrible pupil these days. He isn't sure why his coach puts up with him.</p><p>Yuri's grandfather, Nikolai, picks them up from the airport. They spot his car immediately, parked outside, and Otabek's happy to see the old Moskvitch still running. Nikolai greets them gruffly from the drivers seat next to a passenger's seat full of boxes, books, and knickknacks. He informs Otabek that the trunk is full as well while Yuri smothers him with a neck hug through the window. Nikolai rolls up the window, boxing Yuri out.</p><p>Yuri piles their suitcases into the seat behind the knickknacks, teetering the little old car, then slips into the middle seat, chattering at his grandfather about the snow leopard. Nikolai listens with a flat line of lips and furrowed brows, giving an occasional nod or grunt.</p><p>Otabek finds it irritating; like Yuri is speaking to an unappreciative wall. Otabek fleetingly hates Yuri's grandfather almost as much as he hates himself.</p><p>The car is small enough that Yuri is pressed against Otabek, wedged between the tower of luggage and Otabek's suddenly too-wide shoulders. He can feel Yuri's warmth.</p><p>Sure, the Moskvitch is still running, but it sports a broken heater and a belt screeching somewhere near the nose of the car. Must be slipping.</p><p>“I can take a look under the hood if you'd like,” Otabek offers, stressing the formal Вы. Nikolai has insisted Otabek can be informal with him as an honorary member of the family, but it makes him uncomfortable. Otabek rarely uses informal speech with much of his own family, so he sure as hell doesn't feel comfortable doing it with Yuri's grandfather.</p><p>Nikolai grunts a resigned agreement. Evidence of forced inactivity fills the small space in the car around them. He's a Mister-Fix-It man much like Otabek. The state of his car calls to the fact that Nikolai is doing... alright. He's healthy on paper, but he can't walk much anymore and refuses to consider a chair or even a cane.</p><p>It's clear that Nikolai has had enough of polite conversation when he turns the dial on the radio. An old, yellowing manual tuner darts along a line to find the right frequency. The radio scratches to life stubbornly, then leaves them chugging along the highway to the tune of some old Russian folk that he's heard a hundred times but doesn't know the name of. Yuri shifts beside him, adjusting his undoubtedly cramping legs.</p><p>“Where did you get this sweater?” Yuri asks quietly under the radio's safe sound cushion.</p><p>“Venice,” Otabek answers. Yuri huffs with irritation. Not the answer he wanted. “I can get you one like it.”</p><p>“Rich asshole,” Yuri mumbles under his breath in an unforgiving tone, but Otabek is so very fond of the soft curve of Yuri's smile that he makes it a point to never miss it.</p><p>Yuri likes the soft fabric of the sweater Otabek is wearing. Otabek knows because Yuri nuzzles him like a kitten when he wears it. Though not now. Yuri leans his head on the suitcases. Away. Otabek knows (or hopes) Yuri's head would be tucked against his collarbone instead if they were alone. Yuri never wants to seem clingy, and while that comes in handy when they're in public, Otabek is happy to be Yuri's velcro.</p><p>Nikolai grumbles and honks his very soft squeak of a horn at someone who cuts him off, hunched over his steering wheel with steady irritation.</p><p>“So he's fine, then,” Otabek comments with flat sarcasm.</p><p>“Yeah just like you're fine,” Yuri meets his tone quickly.</p><p>“Mm.” Got him, there.</p><p>“You want to tell me what's up with you or treat me like a child?”</p><p>“It's nothing, Yura.”</p><p>Yuri lets out an irritated <i>tch</i>, head jostling on the suitcases as they bump along the old shocks of the small car. Otabek likes Yuri as much as Yuri likes the truth.</p><p>Otabek stays quiet, watching the heat of their collective breaths fog the windows.</p><p>Nikolai cracks the window to help with the fog, chilling them with a gust of cold air in the backseat. Even Otabek shivers and tucks his chin into his coat. Yuri's weight shifts again beside him, scooting his hips and shoulders closer, but keeping his head away to maintain the suggestion of distance between them.</p><p>Drifting on crisp gusts, Otabek quietly tells Yuri about the mysterious check at the hookah bar. It's more than just that, though. The incidents are compounding and piling on his shoulders to the point he fears they may weigh down his jumps. </p><p>Quiet, but attentive, Yuri seems to understand this.</p><p>“I'm considering a restraining order,” Otabek adds. “A friend of mine in America-”</p><p>Yuri snorts a laugh. “Okay, restraining order in what country?”</p><p>Otabek has considered the challenges of asking for protection in multiple countries, but he thinks just covering the main ones might serve useful.</p><p>“Kazakhstan. Maybe Russia,” Otabek answers.</p><p>And if Yuri's reaction was inconsiderate to begin with, now it's flat out rude.</p><p>“Russia? You're seriously out of touch.”</p><p>Otabek supposes he is. Russian laws are mostly unknown to him. Even Almaty is somewhat foreign to his adult self, only recently reintroduced into his life. Restraining orders are rarely enforced in many countries. Besides, he doesn't even know the identity of his superfan.</p><p>Otabek thanks Nikolai for the ride when they arrive at the house. He omits that he would have preferred to taxi.</p><p>The selfies don't end now that they're in Russia. A new fire is lit under Yuri, for whatever reason, as he works diligently to document their days together.</p><p>But mostly, they just practice. Otabek is pleased to see Yuri skate again and again. It isn't very helpful to his own progress, but it does force him to steel his nerves and grow stronger at avoiding distractions.</p><p>Not that anything <i>other than</i> Yuri Plisetsky has ever distracted him from skating.</p><p>Even Yuri gets distracted more easily than Otabek expected him to. Typically, he's all serious hands and focused feet, eyes trained on a gold medal and prepared to cut down anything that might stand in the way.</p><p>One of their last days at the rink, Otabek notices Yuri pull out his phone, sliding idly on the ice with his feet parted and knees angled. He frowns at the screen.</p><p>Otabek skates over and catches sight of the comments over Yuri's shoulder.</p><p>
  <b>yuri has a visitor!!!</b>
</p><p>
  <b>this is so gay</b>
</p><p>
  <b>does he have to be such a girl about it?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>what did you expect from the russian fairy?</b>
</p><p>Otabek lets out an unimpressed humph.</p><p>“What?” Yuri whirls around, shoving his phone in his pocket.</p><p>“Russian Fairy,” Otabek comments. Yuri looks confused.</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“It doesn't suit you,” Otabek declares.</p><p>Yuri scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Have you <i>seen</i> me? Take a look.”</p><p>Oh, Otabek's looking. He's always looking. How does anyone look at Yuri and even think to push him down <i>like that</i>, with such passive insults? One look at Yuri and Otabek pushes down invasive thoughts of what Yuri's dick looks like. Or of Yuri pushing <i>him</i> down in a completely different way, to claim him body and soul.</p><p>Otabek purses his lips and observes. Yuri's eyes strike. His fortitude comes from something within him, welling up and pouring forth on his sharp tongue and in the thunderstorm clap of his skates on the ice. Ever since Otabek first saw him dance, everything else has just been a comparison to that beauty. Perhaps Yuri is a reincarnated Alkonost, entrancing with dance instead of sound.</p><p>Of all these words and observations, Otabek can only find a single Russian sentence to share aloud.</p><p>“Maybe I need a closer look,” Otabek says and averts his gaze. The beast within yearns.</p><p>Yuri doesn't make a sound. What is his reaction? Otabek regrets looking away. He makes a tiny snow pile of ice shavings with the toe of his skate.</p><p>It's not that Otabek wants to fuck Yuri; not really. He wants to <i>service</i> him. He wants to grab on tight and drag lusty moans from his shaking body, littered with the evidence of Otabek's rough teeth and tongue. Otabek's own name is dull in its familiarity and he wants to hear it bubble alive on Yuri's kiss bruised lips.</p><p>The sound of blades dragging on ice fills the silence as Yuri swivels away to resume practice, offering only a thoughtful hum. Otabek follows suit, taking to the other side of the rink. He's halfway through his step sequence when Yuri calls from across the ice.</p><p>“Thanks, Beka,” Yuri says from where he's apparently been watching Otabek skate. “For what you said.”</p><p>Otabek stumbles clumsily on his skates, but whips his head up just in time to watch Yuri's eyes widen with the realization of what he's said.</p><p>“For the part about me not being a fairy,” Yuri clarifies in a hurried fluster, cheeks reddened as he skates off backwards, picking up speed around the curve of the rink and hurtling into a perfect quad like it requires no effort at all.</p><p>If Yuri is Alkonost, then Otabek is the blessed fruit catching dew from his wings.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>•••••••••••••••••••••••</p>
</div>They head to Moscow a day earlier than they need to, opting for the road trip Otabek has always wanted to make of it. Yuri talks his ear off most of the way, pointing out certain buildings they drive past and digressing into stories about him and his grandfather when he was still very young. Even when he tunes out of the conversation, the comforting sound of Yuri's voice fills him with warmth and ease.<p>Otabek has never made the drive by car and hopes to take in the scenery, though he feels guilty when he can't help but compare it to road tripping in his home country. Maybe his grandmother had been right. <i>Those who travel in other countries will be a critic.</i></p><p>There's a number of beguiling old cities and towns dating back hundreds of years and Otabek is awed when they stop over in Veliky Novgorod. Being Kazakhstani, Otabek is nearly the same age as his country, and the history of Russia is something to behold.</p><p>In Kazakhstan, they have antique buildings. They have ancient mosques and old, soviet grays. But history and tradition for his Almatinian generation stem from words passed from elders. Almaty crackles on the frayed ends of ties with Russia and Otabek feels it rattle in the city's bones as they hurtle towards modernization.</p><p>It's incredible to observe this difference up close. He sees how Yuri's relationship with the history of his motherland differs from his own. It's an illumination of Yuri's world that allows his eyes to truly pierce, every day more striking the more Otabek knows what's behind them.</p><p>Only the hum of a fan pushing warm air into the car fills the space. He notices Yuri has stopped talking, but isn't sure how long it's been. He remembers that he'd been talking. Otabek drifts his eyes from the road for a moment to observe Yuri.</p><p>Otabek is not a perfect man. Days on end with Yuri make him careless; he tunes Yuri out and gets irritated with little things he does, like making incensed comments or sulking off at faraway objects (like he is now) for seemingly no reason. Or maybe Otabek is the reason.</p><p>He remembers Nikolai's uninspiring listening skills. Perhaps Yuri is tired of being treated like background noise.</p><p>Otabek strikes up a conversation, tossing little sparks at a deflated Yuri who provides only one-word responses until the sparks catch and he blazes to life once more.</p><p>Moscow is as winsome as ever. Not quite as uniquely stunning as Saint Petersburg, but he enjoys the occasional juxtaposition of the grungy, bustling streets against the pointed and bulbous building tops.</p><p>As they're checking into their hotel, Otabek receives a message from Umida.</p><p><b>Umida ♥ ♥  19:35</b><br/>
Please call me when you have a spare moment.</p><p>As the proud solo person in Otabek's phone permitted to add emojis to her name, she never calls. They always text. Something must be wrong.</p><p>They settle into their hotel room and Yuri shoots him a questioning look as he steps out onto the balcony to make a call.</p><p>“Umida never asks to call,” Otabek says by way of explanation for leaving the room to chat. Yuri looks less than pleased, but allows it.</p><p>“Whatever,” Yuri says, collapsing onto the bed he's already claimed as his for their stay.</p><p><i>Good evening.</i> Umida's greeting is warm and genuine, if not a little apologetic. <i>Sorry to bother you during your time with Yuri.</i></p><p>Otabek smiles. He doesn't mind the implication. Umida understands that there is something between him and Yuri, but never presses too harshly. She jokes (very often) about it, going on about how Otabek 'better hurry up before father begins <i>kuda tusu,</i>' but she never truly judges.</p><p><i>Kuda tusu.</i> The traditional match making process.</p><p>Otabek feels his cheeks warm against the cold balcony breeze just thinking about Yuri that way. He's blessed with such a progressive sister. Falling in love with another man has been a legal option in Kazakhstan for most of Otabek's life— on paper. Not so much in practice.</p><p>He's careful to venture outside of the relatively forward-thinking comfort of his small social circle in Almaty and keeps his relationships under a tight lock and key. His public circuit of rumors about his gay sex life are more than enough reason to be cautious, but openly confirming them may put him in danger. Don't ask; don't tell.</p><p><i>Is now a good time?</i> Umida adds when Otabek hesitates for too long, lost in thought as the Moscow city lights glitter beneath him.</p><p>“Always,” Otabek says with a smile. “Is something wrong?”</p><p>
  <i>It's another package.</i>
</p><p>Umida offers no further information beyond this. She behaves as if those few words offer enough information to relieve further discussion.</p><p>A family trait, Otabek supposes.</p><p>“And?” Otabek presses gently for more.</p><p>
  <i>It's a skating costume in exactly your size. They insisted you're better off without those old costumes. They hope you'll wear this costume starting when you return home.</i>
</p><p>Otabek lets out a relieved sigh. Could have been worse news.</p><p>
  <i>The note is also offering to 'deal with' Yuri for you.</i>
</p><p>Otabek has never struggled with anger issues and he's surprised when his first reaction is to kick something. Hard.</p><p>Yuri's threat, the suitcase, the skates, the gifts... This Grand Prix season is an absolutely miserable one. And he's better off without those old costumes?</p><p>It dawns on Otabek all at once. The suitcase.</p><p>The suitcase had his family address on it.</p><p>The suitcase thief is his superfan.</p><p>Otabek churns over the information, mentally clicking over it at an incredibly slow pace. What kind of fan is so blinded by their passion that they don't think of Otabek as a <i>human</i> person that may need his suitcase?</p><p>
  <i>They are concerned and have grown tired of the Ice Tiger not being faithful to you.</i>
</p><p>Not being faithful? Otabek ponders on it for a bit. Must be the social media situation. It is hard to ignore that whenever Yuri isn't with Otabek, he's with a parade of random, attractive men.</p><p>
  <i>Would you like to hear the exact wording in the letter?</i>
</p><p>“No,” Otabek answers quickly. “That won't be necessary.” </p><p>He doesn't want to have to replay direct quotes in his head before, during, and after his programs. He can read it when he returns home, with the Rostelecom Cup behind him and more space from Yuri to sort out what to do about this new parasite on his life. If he can do anything at all.</p><p>He's since learned that death threats are not uncommon regarding pair skaters. He wonders if the same courtesy extends to <i>couple</i> skaters. Yuuri and Viktor have always seemed to get along fine, but then again, he doesn't really talk to them. He wouldn't really know if they dealt with similar issues in the public eye.</p><p>A car horn blares on the street below the balcony. Otabek thanks his sister for the information.</p><p>Otabek slides the balcony door and steps back inside, cold air rushing in. Yuri is draped in his hoodie— the one from Venice— scrutinizing him with sharp, green eyes, following his every move. Waiting for an explanation.</p><p>“Umida was informing me that I received another package,” Otabek offers.</p><p>Yuri's face softens and he smirks. “What is it this time?”</p><p>“An expensive costume in my size,” Otabek answers. <i>And another possible death threat for you,</i> he decides to omit. There are no secrets between them and he doesn't intend for there to be. He will tell Yuri after the competition since it seemed to do no good the last time.</p><p>“You better show me a picture when you get home,” Yuri teases him, though Otabek knows he is just secretly very passionate about costumes and fashion. Especially when it's on (or has the potential to be on) Otabek's body.</p><p>“Of course,” Otabek assures Yuri, then readies himself for a night of rest before the competition.</p><p>The next morning, Otabek is hit with the fact that the Rostelecom Cup came much more quickly than Otabek is prepared for. </p><p>He just wants more time.</p><p>The past sixteen days with Yuri were not nearly enough to satisfy him, but he is excited to perform his Free Skate tomorrow in front of Yuri for the first time in person.</p><p><i>For</i> Yuri.</p><p>They sit together and commentate on the competition as they wait for their turn on the ice. Otabek is pleased to see Yuri in his Short Program costume again. It's an absolutely stunning hodgepodge of draping blue-green sparkles and Otabek is fairly certain it's one of his favorite things he has ever seen Yuri wear. The way it catches light on the ice rink is mesmerizing. He can't wait to watch Yuri spin.</p><p>Otabek is wearing the “very Kazakh” costume he bought with JJ, still very fond of the detailing down the side. Something about an outfit that just feels right for the music makes him puff his chest confidently.</p><p>They finish their Short Programs with Yuri in second place and Otabek in third.</p><p>Day two, Otabek executes his Free Skate perfectly. This is his season. He is peaking. Yuri smothers him with compliments about how <i>cool</i> it was before taking to the ice immediately after him, absolutely glowing.</p><p>Yuri had been glorious for his first program, but for his second, he's catching so much air and landing so many quads that Otabek thinks the costume of a bird was the perfect choice for this program. They take the podium together, side by side, with Yuri taking gold and Otabek at his right with silver. </p><p>Yuri is elated and Otabek can't help but bask in the fringes of his spotlight, proud and undoubtedly outperformed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1- I've been consulting my acquantances from Kazakhstan, but if you find anything offensive/inaccurate, please let me know. (:</p><p>2- I unfortunately don't have anyone in my life to consult for Russia tbh. Same applies as above.</p><p>3- We are burning a little slowly. I've added that tag.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*throws POV Yuri chapter at you out of nowhere*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's fucking bullshit they can't both take gold when everyone knows that Otabek deserves it just as much as Yuri does. </p><p>...Not that Yuri actually wants to share. If he could, though, Yuri would walk right up to those judges and shove their shitty score cards down their throats until they raised Otabek's score by <i>at least</i> 10 points.</p><p>But he is Russia's sweet, elegant fairy. It's a persona that is just as important to his skating career as his actual performance, which is also bullshit, but Yuri would rather die than shame Lilia with undignified behavior. Not after all she's done for him over the years.</p><p>Yuri throws his locker open. Great, another stupid bouquet. It's not even a nice one, like orchids or roses meticulously arranged to look like kitties. It's one of those generic ones they sell right outside of the stadium doors for all of the losers that behave like they didn't know they were expected to throw expensive, themed bullshit onto the ice for the flower sweepers, quietly wilting away from the slow death of boredom.</p><p>Yuri <i>loved</i> picking up that shit when he was a kid.</p><p>He grabs the bouquet from his locker, planning to carry it immediately out of the locker room for a slam dunk in the dumpster, when he catches sight of Otabek's name on the attached card and freezes to read it.</p><p>
  <b>Congrats on your gold and 15 boyfriends. Otabek deserves better.</b>
</p><p>Yuri's eyes dart to Otabek, who is hanging near his shoulder, but it's unclear whether he's seen it. Yuri feels his cheeks go hot and hides behind his curtain of hair, shoving the stupid note into the deep recesses of his bag before aggressively starting a conversation to avoid having to feel things.</p><p>“Those judges might as well have plastered BIASED on their foreheads tonight,” Yuri complains as he steps carelessly out of his costume. Otabek very politely— very fucking gentlemanly— averts his gaze and hums in general acknowledgment that Yuri has spoken. Yuri rummages through his bag for his outfit to get him through the banquet and to their hotel.</p><p>“You should have scored at least a 280 and you know it,” Yuri insists, unwilling to drop the issue.</p><p>“There's only room for one winner,” Otabek says. “And you deserved it,” he adds before wordlessly excusing himself to a private changing room. Yuri hates him. Yuri loves him.</p><p>And <i>fuck</i> does he not want to go to this banquet. Otabek is the one making him go. Yuri would much rather whip that private changing room curtain open and hear Otabek praise him for how good he is at blowjobs.</p><p>This year will be the year Otabek takes gold at the Grand Prix Final, because as much as Yuri wants it for himself, he's tired of Otabek dragging his heels to pointless Grand Prix banquets (like this one) with a medal only to skip the Final banquet in quiet shame when he doesn't make podium.</p><p>Russia is a skating empire. They'll be fine to skip gold this year. </p><p>Plus, Yuri has studied enough Kazakh now to know that Otabek's name literally means gold in Kazakh. <i>Altin.</i> So how stupid is it that he doesn't have a GPF gold medal already?</p><p>The banquet is boring. The food sucks, as most fancy snobby food does. Their fellow competitors are annoying, especially Pichit, who acts like he thinks he can beat Yuri at taking masterful selfies or something when everyone knows that he definitely <i>cannot.</i></p><p>Otabek helps himself to five drinks. Yuri knows because he's counting as he himself walks around with one full glass of champagne so that no one offers him anything. Champagne is gross.</p><p>Otabek's gaze lingers on Yuri just a little too long, watching with eyes lightly reddened from alcohol. Yuri feels hot under his stare, but also just hot with anger, because why does Otabek insist on looking at him like that if he also insists on being just friends?</p><p>“Insist is a strong word when you've never fucking talked about it,” the Ladies' Silver medalist, Lizaveta, cuts into his thoughts and Yuri practically jumps out of his skin.</p><p>Crap. He must have accidentally said some of that aloud when he's not even drunk. Ugh. He's <i>pissed</i> he said that aloud, but at least Otabek wasn't hovering over him when he blathered like a dumbass.</p><p>How fucking embarrassing would that have been?</p><p>Lizaveta is someone Yuri can almost call a friend. She's a young Russian skater that swept any chance Yuri had at reclaiming the name 'Russian Punk' right from under his skates. She can fuck off— with her black hair, heavy combat boots, and equally heavy eye liner. Her sharp tongue is quick to call Yuri out whenever he's close to barreling through Otabek's potential boundaries.</p><p>Ugh, <i>boundaries</i>. So dumb.</p><p>“Shut up, hag,” Yuri says, but he's deflated. He and Lizaveta had first bonded over clothes and music and everything else that's cool, but lately they've talked more about boys. About rock DJ boys with motorcycles that skate for Kazakhstan. He reluctantly agrees to dance with Lizaveta, if only to escape the obnoxious scrutiny of Otabek's gaze.</p><p>It doesn't work. Tucked into a corner of the room, Otabek watches him over the rim of his glass, eyes darting away only when Yuri finally glares back. He knows Otabek wants him. He just doesn't know how he wants him; or at what capacity; or why he hasn't even <i>tried</i> anything when he's had an unreasonable number of perfectly good opportunities.</p><p>Or maybe Otabek doesn't want him at all actually? Not like that, maybe.</p><p>Men that don't try things with Yuri are an enigma. He's not well-versed in men that don't want to use him at least once to get their rocks off.</p><p>Yuri's getting pretty tired of Otabek not venturing out to the dance floor. What's the point of attending the banquet if you aren't even going to pretend with the pleasantries? He looks striking in the low light of the banquet, handsome and (dare he admit) mysterious. Yuri <i>really</i> isn't experienced with men that have the ability to piss him off and turn him on at the same time.</p><p>It isn't until they catch a cab and ride the elevator up to their room in mostly silence that Yuri realizes something is wrong. Otabek's lingering looks on him, now that he's paying more attention, are filled with concern. Altin has something on his mind, and as much as Yuri would like to pretend it's something fun or sexy, it isn't.</p><p>They take turns showering in silence. Prep for bed in silence. Stare at the television without actually watching it in silence.</p><p>“What the fuck is it?” Yuri snaps. Otabek startles a bit at the sudden outburst, but remains on his bed, away from Yuri, avoiding his gaze. Yuri clicks the television off and turns toward him, glaring. “Are you going to talk or what?”</p><p>Otabek watches the black screen without expression. Yuri knows Otabek well enough to know he isn't being ignored. Otabek is thinking, contemplating, carefully selecting exactly the right words he wants to say to perfectly convey what he intends. It's something Yuri both envies and admires about Otabek. It is <i>very</i> fucking different from the way Yuri blurts and yells everything that pops into his head like alarm bells.</p><p>“People think ill of our relationship,” Otabek says slowly and firmly, certain of his words. “Of you.”</p><p>Yuri huffs and laughs a little, relief washing over him. Is that all that's getting Otabek down? Really?</p><p>“Oh so you saw the note. I don't give a crap what anyone thinks,” Yuri says bluntly, shrugging his shoulders.</p><p>“This isn't about the note,” Otabek replies quickly. “Not really.”</p><p>Yuri isn't sure what he means by that, but he sure as shit doesn't care what anyone thinks of him as long as it doesn't hurt the few people close to him. Surely Otabek knows this is part of the deal. They're famous enough to receive scrutiny, praise, and threats. It's part of the professional skating package and always has been.</p><p>“Beka, you know the death threats are a joke, right?”</p><p>“Well they aren't very funny,” Otabek deadpans.</p><p>Patience is a virtue that Yuri greatly lacks and he definitely doesn't have enough to give Old  Soul Otabek a crash course in internet culture 101. This is the same man that thinks some of those “brb killing myself”comments may be actual cries for help.</p><p>Otabek is also the same man that had interpreted “if you win gold again I will literally die and fucking take you with me” as an actual threat, citing the definition of literally; without metaphor, exaggeration, or allegory. Yuri had zero fucking patience for that shit the first time and has even less for a debrief of the situation.</p><p>“Why did you start skating?” Yuri asks casually, not giving Otabek a chance to steer the conversation any further.</p><p>Otabek takes his time, chews over his thoughts before deciding how to swallow them.</p><p>“There's a saying in my country,” Otabek shares quietly. “The eyes of a hundred people can warm you better than the sun.”</p><p>Yuri likes that. That's a cool way to say you're an attention whore. </p><p>“Makes sense,” Yuri responds automatically. </p><p>Otabek moves, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to face Yuri. Their beds are close together in their small hotel room. They sit on the edges, only an arm length's distance now.</p><p>“Your eyes burn me, Yura,” Otabek says firmly, his coffee brown eyes burning into Yuri and heating his skin.</p><p>Yuri blinks at him, unable to process the words he's hearing. </p><p>“Hah?” he states eloquently.</p><p>“I don't want people watching you with hate when you're with me,” Otabek says.</p><p>Yuri's dick twitches in his pants and he silently screams at it to calm the fuck down. This is really not the time to get hot and bothered about Otabek's intense eyes, the momentary flutter of his short lashes, and shift of his biceps as he says the words <i>when you're with me</i> in a low, sultry tone.</p><p>“We're skaters, dumbass,” Yuri dismisses. “Being watched is literally our job.”</p><p>Otabek chuckles and shakes his head. His lightly drunken laughter vibrates down Yuri's spine, his voice rumbling in the space between them. </p><p>“We might as well put on a show, then,” Otabek suggests easily.</p><p>Otabek speaks clearly, but the way he fidgets and flicks his glassy, reddened eyes around the room assures Yuri that, yes, Otabek has had a bit to drink. </p><p>“What's that supposed to mean?” Yuri asks.</p><p>Otabek's usually-serious dark brows relax as the corners of his lips pull up slightly with thick suggestion.</p><p>“Seriously, Beka, what are you thinking?”</p><p>Otabek shifts to a wide grin and Yuri kind of wants to smack it away because he's never seen Otabek look <i>that</i> openly smug before and it's really fucking hot.</p><p>“Sure you want me to answer that, Yura?” Otabek asks, elbow propped on his knee, chin resting on his palm as he tilts his head playfully.</p><p>Otabek's words trickle across Yuri's skin. A tongue darts out to lick at cracked, Kazakh lips and Yuri's legs melt to goo.</p><p>Yuri likes Otabek with alcohol in his system.</p><p>“Yeah,” Yuri croaks out and swallows to wet the cracked desert of his throat.</p><p>“I'm thinking I want to know what you look like between your legs, to be honest,” Otabek answers.</p><p>Yuri chokes on an unformed reply and hops up from the bed, brushing awkwardly past Otabek's knees in the small space between their beds. An unstoppable heat curls in his stomach as he draws the balcony door curtains closed, unwilling to give the world a show quite like this because <i>Otabek is going to fucking touch him oh my God.</i></p><p>Beka is always stupidly honest, but the alcohol is apparently pumping all of Otabek's blood from his brain to his dick today. Desire is written on Otabek's face when Yuri turns back to face him.</p><p>“<i>Shit,</i> Beka,” Yuri replies with liquid heat pumping through his veins. Yuri is sober. He's of sound mind. Even as his hands travel down his own body to grab at his clothes, he knows damn well he has no excuse to be a grubby incubus. His dick is tenting his pants, eager to spring forth with embarrassing immediacy. </p><p>Yuri drops his pants and briefs to his ankles, then removes his shirt in one fell swoop. “Take a look, Altin.”</p><p>Otabek stands from the bed, but doesn't move closer. Only watches. Waits.</p><p>There's something that's always been sexy about using Otabek's family name. Yuri never refers to anyone just by surname— he's <i>Russian</i>— but as professional athletes, Yuri spends a lot of time listening to Otabek's formal names in every country: Mr. Altin, Otabek Altin, or just plain Altin.</p><p>That's the one that does something funny to him. <i>Altin.</i> And when Otabek calls him <i>Plisetsky</i>, it goes straight to his dick. Uttered by Otabek only in jest or challenge, it's somehow weaseled its way into several very sexy fantasies.</p><p>It's done. He's standing before Otabek, completely naked, and Otabek finally isn't looking away. In fact, Otabek's tongue darts out to wet his lips again, then he parts them ever so slightly. The cold air of the room hits Yuri's hot erection, bobbing in the open air.</p><p>“Yuri...” Otabek breathes, eyes flicking down before politely returning to eye contact. “You look better than I imagined, Yura.”</p><p>His own name, no matter how it's said, is pure sex dripping from Otabek's lips. Some leftover insecurity from Yuri's teen years tries to break free, but he holds Otabek's gaze with steady eyes. </p><p>“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Yuri challenges.</p><p>Otabek's lips curve lightly as he watches him, but he says nothing.</p><p>Yuri's skin is on fire, anxiety dancing through his limbs. His tongue curls around a dozen insults that dissolve before they're realized. He feels cold and vulnerable under Otabek's stare, but every flick of those eyes over his naked body warms him. He's ready. He's waited long enough to have Otabek's fingers tracing his muscles, wrapping around him, pushing inside him.</p><p>As if in response to Yuri's silent desire, Otabek steps from the small space between the beds and slowly unzips his pants. He pulls everything down to his knees, then drops them to the floor. Much like Yuri, he steps out of them, then discards his shirt quickly.</p><p>Yuri is much less respectful than Otabek and drinks in every inch. A dark, curly tuft of hair rests above a gorgeous, left-curved, dark tan-tipped penis. He wants to taste it. His eyes travel down Otabek's thick thighs, then up his toned abdomen, his wide shoulders, his sharp cheekbones.</p><p>When he meets Otabek's eyes again, he's just watching Yuri, observing where his eyes travel with a dark look. His lips are parted, his breath quick and shallow for all they haven't even done yet.</p><p>Yuri teases. He runs his hands down his own torso, over his nipples and down to his hips where he allows them to trail off. He's not sure what made him do it. Otabek's eyes follow his hands before flicking quickly back up to his eyes, almost guilty. Yuri shivers.</p><p>“You want me, Beka?” Yuri asks, his voice dripping with more seduction than he knew he could muster untouched.</p><p>Otabek swallows hard. His Adam's apple bobs on his neck. Yuri wants to put his mouth on it.</p><p>“If you're offering,” Otabek answers as if trying to sound indifferent. His voice is low and scratchy, heavily accented as his tongue pushes out the Russian syllables sounding more Kazakh than ever. If Yuri thought <i>he</i> was successful at mustering sexuality untouched, then Otabek is Koyash, God of the Sun, demanding every man turn to him and <i>bow.</i></p><p>Yuri feels his knees tremble, but he manages to scoff and shoot Otabek an angry pout. Cock tease Otabek. Indifferent Otabek. Absolutely <i>full of shit</i> Otabek. Acting as if he hasn't been quietly pining. Any doubt Yuri ever had about Otabek's desires are now erased forever, wiped clean from his memory by those dark, hungry eyes on him.</p><p>“Come get a closer look, then,” Yuri purrs, “Or maybe a taste.” The confidence in his own tone catches him by surprise.</p><p>“I can be patient,” Otabek counters. And Yuri knows it's true. Otabek can be so patient, even when he knows exactly how and when he wants something.</p><p>Yuri turns around and palms his ass, glancing over his shoulder with sinful eyes as he pulls up to part his cheeks. Just barely. Just enough to tease Otabek with 'what's between his legs'. </p><p>Otabek visibly tenses.</p><p>So, <i>so</i> patient.</p><p>Yuri smiles and stalks forward, taking another long look at Otabek's perfect body as he approaches. He notices Otabek shift uncomfortably once he's just moments away, as if he's unsure what's expected of him when Yuri's staring with no shame.</p><p>The sound of laughter passes faintly by the door to their hotel room. Yuri feels their cocks brush hot and hard in the open air and Otabek twitches at the contact.</p><p>Thick hands quickly caress Yuri's hips and a breathy Kazakh curse escapes Otabek's lips. Yuri is instantly sure that sex with Otabek will mean trying to duplicate that again and again until Otabek forgets every language he knows.</p><p>The touch on his hips is feather light and innocent— so out of place against the sexual tension thick in the air between them. Eyes search his when Yuri takes Otabek in his hand and strokes him gently. Another string of curses escape Otabek's lips, "Allah" somewhere in the mix.</p><p>Men have blasphemed for Yuri in many languages, though Arabic is a first.</p><p>Yuri continues to stroke Otabek until he's panting, hoping it will ease his nerves. Otabek's cock is smooth and heavy in his hand and Yuri wants to do everything to it— smear the wet tip everywhere on and in his own body.</p><p>But Otabek's still tense. Withdrawn. His fingers trace light circles on Yuri's hips, making him shiver when they trace the V between his thighs and tickle his waist. His breaths are strained puffs of champagne and spearmint as Yuri strokes him, a perturbed frown on his face.</p><p>"What's the matter with you?" Yuri asks. “Thinking about the Final?"</p><p>Otabek tenses even more and Yuri releases him. On a deep breath, Otabek cards one hand through his hair and props the other on his hip as he looks away with pursed lips, thinking.</p><p>Otabek fucking Altin: always pulling out the mixed signals. One minute he's frozen watching Yuri shed his clothes, then the next he's recoiling like a snake from cold.</p><p>"I'm accustomed to romancing a partner before taking them to bed," Otabek explains, though he still won't return Yuri's new favorite gift of intense, prolonged contact with those dark eyes.</p><p>"I don't care," Yuri counters bluntly. "It's just sex."</p><p>Otabek drops his hands in resignation and turns back to Yuri.</p><p>"Right," he agrees flatly, gripping Yuri's hips with more intensity now. Yuri usually finds comfort in Otabek's linguistic minimalism, but right now, he wishes Otabek would give him a little more than half-assed agreement. Although Otabek's grip is more firm, he still looks lost. Unsure.</p><p>After taking a moment to collect himself, Otabek pushes Yuri down onto the bed. Yuri's heart pounds in his chest as Otabek crawls between his legs and wraps his lips around Yuri's long, pink cock.</p><p>Yuri's fingers wrap tightly in Otabek's hair as he whines and moans from the sudden pleasure. He's never imagined the <i>first</i> place Otabek would put his mouth on him would be his dick.</p><p>Otabek covers the base with his fist and bobs, sucking hard on the tip. A deep rumble rises from Otabek as he hums on his length.</p><p>“Fuck, Otabek... You're so <i>good</i> at this,” Yuri breathes as he shakes and arches up into the blinding heat. He sees stars as he comes down Otabek's throat, tongue still massaging his dick. He lasts all of ten seconds, but he isn't embarassed.</p><p>Then Otabek places a pillow gently under his head and pulls Yuri into his arms, petting his hair and expressing a line of soft Kazakh gibberish in his ear.</p><p>Otabek <i>Fucking</i> Altin. Always <i>games</i> with this man.</p><p>“Okay now let me do you,” Yuri insists, struggling against Otabek's hold, planting his palms firmly on Otabek's chest and pushing to free himself.</p><p>Otabek hushes him sweetly, combing through his hair and massaging his scalp with the pads of his fingers.</p><p>“I enjoyed doing that to you,” Otabek soothes and Yuri relents in his struggle against his chest. “And I'm drunk,” Otabek adds.</p><p>Yuri scoffs and gently tells Otabek to go fuck himself under his breath, but flips over and snuggles more closely, slotting his back perfectly into Otabek like they were designed to be this way. He can still feel Otabek's erection hard against him as their breaths settle, fingers threading gently through his hair.</p><p>“I'd love to take you like this sometime, Yura,” Otabek rumbles drunkenly in his ear and it makes Yuri's skin light on fire. </p><p>Yuri can imagine it. Fingers— <i>Otabek's</i> fingers— slipping between his legs. Yuri lifting his leg to allow Otabek to penetrate him from behind. Otabek's hands splayed wide on Yuri's chest, cradling him as he moves his erection back and forth. Otabek grunting and groaning his name— <i>Yura</i>— his strong arms gripping Yuri as he comes inside of him.</p><p>“Do it now,” Yuri demands, pushing his hips back to roll against Otabek's hard, exposed cock.</p><p>“I'm very drunk, Yura,” Otabek reiterates with a deep chuckle, scratchy and masculine near Yuri's ear and it's the purest sound Yuri's heard spill from his lips. Otabek's hips rock only once before stilling against Yuri. Otabek's breath slowly evens out, and soon he's puffing out long, steady exhales of sleep.</p><p>Yuri is decidedly <i>very</i> not accustomed to men not trying things with him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>•••••••••••••••••••••••</p>
</div>Yuri wakes feeling awkward with Otabek's erection still pressing against him, but as soon as Otabek yawns awake and smiles at him with a grumbled “good morning,” everything is easy again.<p>Yuri knows Otabek had been drinking the following night, but not enough to have forgotten a second of it. That's made abundantly clear when Otabek's smiles are breathier and his touches linger longer than before.</p><p>He understands, logically, that maybe it's weird they spend the next two days together, wandering Moscow and going out for things that feel eerily like dates. Maybe they're doing everything sloppy and out of order, but it feels natural. He doesn't feel the need to rush into some bullshit preordained formula for a romantic relationship.</p><p>They don't kiss after that night, but they steal more glances. Their bodies gravitate toward each other and their conversations stray more freely into overt affection. They flirt and share food even when they've ordered practically the same dish. People shoot them nasty glares on occasion but Yuri doesn't care. It's so much more marvelously enriching than any kiss or blow job or fuck he's ever so much as hoped to have.</p><p>On their last day, Yuri snaps a selfie of them in front of the perfectly conical Christmas Tree at Chistye Prudy ice rink, gold and silver medals around their necks, held up to fit into the camera frame. Yuri sticks his tongue out to the side playfully while Otabek (shockingly) offers a smirk.</p><p>“Can I post this?” Yuri asks excitedly after he looks over it and adds a caption, overjoyed with how well the photo came out.</p><p>Otabek leans back in, intentionally close to Yuri. He feels Otabek's body warmth as he catches the slight quirk of Otabek's lip. </p><p>“Subtle,” Otabek states with an air of implication, but his consent is clear.</p><p>Yuri knows exactly what he means. The photo isn't overtly affectionate by any means, but it 's definitely easy to guess what they mean to each other. It's a small enough gesture to give nosy idiots more to talk about, just right on the cusp of an actual confirmation.</p><p>Yuri posts the picture on social and then immediately silences his phone. He shoves it deep into his pocket, eager to enjoy the remainder of his day in Moscow with Otabek free of distraction. He feels ridiculous as they tuck their heavy medals into their coats and skate around the rink at a leisurely pace, but it's more than worth the photo op.</p><p>The caption reads: <b>Welcome back to the madness #gold #medal #rostelecom #champion #grandprize #altinmeansgold #kazakhlanguage #iwin</b></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With the Grand Prix Final only eighteen days away, Otabek returns home to Almaty and plunges into a rigorous practice schedule. The competition will land him back in Canada this year, and in some ways, he'll be pleased to go back so soon.</p><p>Leading up to the event, he and Yuri exchange music from time to time, always at Yuri's request. Always to the tune of Yuri complaining that much of Otabek's music is too 'soft' and leaves no room for cathartic release.</p><p><i>It's boring,</i> Yuri complains through Otabek's computer screen right on schedule with their usual formula. Yuri is always noticeably slower to warm up to new music than Otabek.</p><p>Otabek bobs his head to the tune of the song he's chosen for them. The artist is Russian— and popular— so Otabek should have predicted Yuri's knee-jerk reaction. Yuri passionately rejects anything mainstream with burning tenacity. Otabek urges him to wait for the chorus right around the one minute mark, when a pleasantly soft, catchy beat enters to share attention with the vocals.</p><p><i>You're a DJ,</i> Yuri says by way of moderate approval. <i>Why don't you ever skate to something more upbeat?</i></p><p>Otabek almost doesn't catch himself before huffing with irritation. People always assume that he requires a quick dance beat, but he's a Rock DJ. His goal is to capture a feeling, weave common threads through music, and play to a crowd. It isn't about finding the wildest beat.</p><p>“It doesn't suit me,” Otabek answers simply instead of correcting Yuri. He likely knows since he's seen Otabek DJ before. Just slipped his mind.</p><p><i>Bullshit,</i> Yuri counters.</p><p>Without another word, Otabek takes the fairly obvious bait laid out by Yuri Plisetsky and devours it. </p><p>He chooses a very different piece with much more lively choreography than his fans have come to expect from him for a new Exhibition Skate. He doubts himself several times. Once, he even asks his friends in Almaty to come watch him practice. They cheer him on with genuine enthusiasm, bobbing their heads to the beat of his program and gasping dramatically when he adds a flair of hip hop they've only ever seen from him off the ice.</p><p>He knows it's foolish to focus any amount of effort on an unscored performance he may not even earn the medal to perform, but he just can't stop himself. As a result of taking on a new program, though, he spends longer nights at the rink. The technical score of his programs have been bumped up again to the highest he's ever attempted.</p><p>He's staying late at Almaty's biggest indoor rink one night when his phone rings. The ice crunches under the slide of his skates as he approaches his ringing phone. Yuri's name flash across the screen and he answers instantly.</p><p><i>Beka-</i> Yuri's voice is scratchy and clipped, wind and hurried breaths whipping into the receiver.</p><p>“Yura?” Otabek asks with confusion only to be answered with more scratchy puffs of air. “Yura, what's wrong?”</p><p><i>Beka I don't... it's probably... one's following me...</i> Yuri says, breathy and distorted, like he's moving quickly, fleeing from something. Otabek's stomach drops as a flurry of horrific images flash over him. Yuri alone on cold concrete, hurt, broken bones, red, afraid.</p><p>“I can't hear you,” Otabek declares and his voice wavers. His hands are shaking and the blades of his skates wobble where he still stands on the ice, clutching the phone to his ear.</p><p>
  <i>Fuck, okay, I'll... later I prom... worry, though.</i>
</p><p>“Yura please don't hang up,” Otabek pleads, heart pounding.</p><p><i>...s'okay, Beka, I'm...</i> Yuri tries to sooth, but he's still breathy. In motion. Otabek can't make out the rest of what he says before he's met with more wind and then a click followed by silence.</p><p>Otabek can't do anything but take big, gulping breaths of the cold ice rink air and dissociate. He calls Yuri again and again between intervals of checking flight ticket prices to Saint Petersburg, rationalizing how long it would take to arrive, and changing into normal shoes.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 18:58</b><br/>
hey im ok ill call you asap</p><p>Yuri doesn't call until 30 minutes later, when Otabek is home from practice and on the verge of booking the fastest flight to Russia and mass texting every single person Yuri knows.</p><p>He answers after only a fraction of a ring.</p><p>“Where are you?” Otabek implores steadily, but he feels frayed and frantic.</p><p>
  <i>Home. I'm okay. It was just weird and you're usually really good at calming me down.</i>
</p><p>“Can I see you?” Otabek asks hurriedly, his heart hammering in his chest. He needs to see Yuri. He needs to look at his face and know that he's okay.</p><p>
  <i>What?</i>
</p><p>“I just...” Otabek croaks, then collects himself, clearing his throat. “I need to see you.”</p><p><i>Uh, yeah, sure, okay,</i> Yuri replies. Otabek hears rustling and the call ends, then the video app on his laptop immediately rings.</p><p>Relief washes over him when Yuri's face pops up on the screen. He's fine. Tired and sweaty, but fine.</p><p>“You're alright,” Otabek states aloud and Yuri just grins, wide and amused.</p><p><i>It's not like it's the first time the angels have followed me home,</i> Yuri informs him bluntly, rolling his eyes, but the delighted grin never leaves.</p><p>Yuri's Angels. Of course. Otabek is such an idiot.</p><p><i>I wouldn't have called you if I knew you were going to be like this,</i> Yuri complains, but his voice is gentle as he gathers his hair in one hand to throw it into the messy bun that Otabek adores. <i>I'll call Lízik next time.</i></p><p>“No!” Otabek raises his voice uncharacteristically. Yuri pauses in pinning his hair, hair tie between his teeth, eyes watchful.</p><p>“No,” Otabek repeats, softer this time. “I'm glad you called.”</p><p>Yuri watches him as he flicks his hair around twice, then pats the puff on his head with his neck held high. Beautiful.</p><p><i>I'm done talking about this,</i> Yuri announces and Otabek does his best to school his expression. This anger and fear isn't about Yuri. This is about Otabek and how much of a mess he is. How every person who steps behind him now frightens him and each package with his name on it makes his stomach twist.</p><p>
  <i>I have a new exhibition skate for you, so you better win a medal so you're not too mopey to pay attention.</i>
</p><p>What a roller coaster. From incredible fear to nervous shame. Yuri, too, has been planning a new skate for the gala. Otabek isn't sure whether to feel threatened or delighted. He hasn't told Yuri about his new skate. It's meant to be a surprise.</p><p>
  <i>Lilia's not going to be happy.</i>
</p><p>Yuri hasn't come to him ahead of time with information about a program since Welcome to the Madness and Otabek wonders if Yuri letting him know is more logistical than anything else. He isn't sure what to say when his mind is still reeling with fear and dread, adrenaline pumping through his veins. What if someone had hurt Yuri? What is someone was planning to?</p><p>
  <i>I seriously had to call in so many favors to get the music approved.</i>
</p><p>“Need my assistance?” Otabek asks to smother his real thoughts.</p><p>
  <i>Nah. Just watch me.</i>
</p><p>Otabek considers asking the same of Yuri. He considers booking that flight just to hold Yuri in his arms and feel assured that he's safe.</p><p>But the darkness in him feeds on this— this tender space of quiet misery— and he pushes the feelings down.</p><p>“Of course, Yura.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>•••••••••••••••••••••••</p>
</div>Otabek really isn't expecting to make the podium. He would love to, but the competition this year is fierce, with JJ, Minami, and a handful of talented younger skaters all qualifying this year. He'd almost feel guilty if he stole a medal from JJ, competing again here in Canada.<p>It's an inconsiderate assignment to have him fly so far <i>twice</i> in one season, but Otabek enjoys Canada. He especially enjoys Vancouver. It reminds him of Almaty with its tall buildings that stand against the backdrop of a mountain range. It's distinctly different from Almaty in almost all other ways, though. The streets are fast-paced as the whole city teeters splendidly on the edge of a massive watershed system, with bay or river sparkling in any given direction.</p><p>Umida sends him another text informing him he's received another package with no shipping label. She politely declines his request for her to open it. He supposes that's fair.</p><p>He dares to check social media for any signs of life outside of competition from Yuri. Instead, he finds 83 notifications as people tag him in a post from one of Yuri's fans, screeching via written word about how Yuri is HERS and the gold is THEIRS and she'll stop at NOTHING to get Otabek out of the way.</p><p>Yuri is eerily silent. He hasn't even read any of Otabek's messages from a few hours ago. Phone must be off.</p><p>Competitions usually fly by in a blissful blur, but not this GPF. Otabek is sharing a room with JJ. Isabella is unable to make it to the GPF this year. She's 'caught up in some big deadlines at work' and Otabek knows that JJ's worst fear is being alone with his own thoughts.</p><p>Otabek will never understand office jobs or what could possibly be keeping Isabella away from her husband's competition on a <i>weekend</i> in their home country. Otabek's work life has always been mechanical deliveries. Land the jump. Obtain the medal. Replace the bike part. Select the song.</p><p>When Otabek runs into Yuri, he spares him nothing short of deadly glares and dramatic displays of annoyance.</p><p>Otabek had known Yuri would be angry, but he'd figured he owes JJ a favor. They've both trained extensively in Canada, they're around the same age, and JJ has really only ever been kind to him no matter how many times Otabek blows him off.</p><p>The GPF crawls along like heavy claws dragging on the English bay floor.</p><p>It's unremarkable, too: Yuri is heavenly, Yuri antagonizes fellow competitors, Yuri takes gold, Yuri looks bored when he stands at the podium. It's the same formula everyone is expecting as they run through the motions of (hopefully) qualifying for the World Championships.</p><p>Otabek takes silver. The Russian National Anthem plays and it just feels like Rostelecom repeated itself, only this time JJ is standing confidently in third place and they're surrounded by more folded red maple leaves than the white, blue, and red stripes of Russia.</p><p>Otabek skips the banquet. Yuri probably doesn't intend to go if he's in a bad mood, anyway, and if his phone being off for days is any indication, then Yuri is <i>pissed</i>.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 20:04</b><br/>
Congratulations. You deserve it, as always.</p><p>
  <i>Seen at 20:05</i>
</p><p>Otabek feels his stomach drop. He spends entirely too long thinking of what to say next, terrified that Yuri will ignore him even with his phone turned back on post-competition.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 20:10</b><br/>
I'm sorry, Yura. Please don't be upset with me.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:10</b><br/>
you seriously think I'm ignoring you just because you're rooming with stupid JJ</p><p>Not at all what he said, but sure, Otabek will take anything he can get.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:10</b><br/>
this banquet sucks</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:10</b><br/>
I thought you would be here by now</p><p>Otabek grins to himself. So Yuri did go. Interesting.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 20:11</b><br/>
You went?</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:11</b><br/>
to see you, idiot</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:11</b><br/>
I wanted to apologize for ignoring you</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:11</b><br/>
I was having serious nerves this year</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:11</b><br/>
I don't even know why but my fans are really annoying me this year</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:11</b><br/>
but I'm not sorry anymore because you ditched me and now I'm stuck at this stupid banquet</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:11</b><br/>
jj won't shut up about his stupid wife</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:11</b><br/>
WHERE ARE YOU?</p><p>Otabek grins at the onslaught of messages. He admires Yuri's ability to type with quick confidence. It's always a much slower, more precise practice for Otabek. </p><p>He carefully weighs his options. Should he get dressed and join in on the banquet? He stands briefly and his feet scream. He has to skate again tomorrow, too.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 20:13</b><br/>
Room 302. The door is propped.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 20:13</b><br/>
don't you dare fall asleep</p><p>Yuri is wearing one of the two simple suits he owns when he steps through the door. Otabek prefers seeing him in his collection of animal print and skin-tight black, but he supposes this is nice, too, on occasion.</p><p>“That banquet sucks even more without Viktor and the piggy there every year to make fun of,” Yuri grumbles as he flicks off his tie and plops onto the bed next to Otabek with relaxed muscles. <i>God I've missed you,</i> Otabek translates Yuri's body language. Yuri is all swift actions and decisive expletives that Otabek has spent years decoding. Now a simple flick of his eyes can reduce his legs to jelly.</p><p>Otabek hums in reply, neither an agreement nor a counter. Just acknowledgment. Yuri wrinkles his dark plum suit legs up to his knees, exposing tiger print socks and the smooth, pale skin of his perfect legs. Otabek smiles softly at the sight.</p><p>They order takeout: three full-size pizzas. They've earned the carbs, if only just for tonight. Yuri thinks it's over-indulgent of them, but doesn't truly object.</p><p>“So, what? You're just planning to eat so much you get sick and can't come watch me skate tomorrow?” Yuri berates Otabek as he picks up a ninth slice. Otabek knows they can both eat through 1.5 pizzas after a competition easily since neither of them are able to stomach much of anything before their programs, but Yuri always holds back.</p><p>“Sorry to disappoint,” Otabek counters smoothly, then takes a big, fat bite.</p><p>They finish their food and attempt to find something tolerable to tune out to on the television until Yuri opts that they listen to music instead. Otabek allows Yuri to select the music and he's surprised when the mix is more diverse than Yuri's usual. Soft rock and sensual pop feature multiple times on the playlist. Otabek doesn't dare comment. He just enjoys the broadening of horizons, knowing it's on his behalf.</p><p>This is the first time being alone with Yuri isn't easy. Otabek chews at his lip and trains his eyes on anything that seems like it might have an excuse to catch his attention. Everything is different. He knows what Yuri's pretty pink dick tastes like. He knows that Yuri's blush spreads warm all the way across his chest when he arches up into pleasure, pert nipples on display. He knows how Yuri pants at the touch of Otabek's hands and the needy mewl that escapes his lips when he quakes as he comes.</p><p>“Fuck, do you think it's weird we've never kissed?” Yuri blurts. Otabek freezes, suddenly very aware of Yuri's body heat close to him. He notices he's been drawing affectionate circles on Yuri's exposed knee in sync with the soothing speed of the music. Shit.</p><p>Yuri is staring at him when he looks over and he isn't sure how long he's been watching him. The tune playing from Yuri's phone is both haunting and catchy.</p><p>
  <i>Touch your face, part your lips for me<br/>
And let me in, hear my symphony</i>
</p><p>Otabek wonders if Yuri's question stems from the song or if, like Otabek, he hadn't been listening to it at all. Yuri's hair frames his face heavenly as his eyes search Otabek's. His cheeks are lightly reddened and his lips part on the quietest gasp when Otabek flicks his eyes down to his lips, then back up to emerald green.</p><p>Otabek slides his hand under Yuri's pants, up the inside of his smooth thigh. Heart pounding, his free hand tucks a strand of Yuri's hair and then he leans in to do what he's wanted to do for years.</p><p>Yuri's lips are wet and soft as Otabek gently brushes his lips against them. A warm exhale escapes Yuri's lips to breathe life into Otabek. The universe compacts down to that one, single action, then expands out in an instant when Yuri's tongue brushes against his on a sigh. Yuri moves into him, pressing his body against his as he falls under Otabek, arching up into the kiss.</p><p>When Otabek pulls back, Yuri bats his pretty blond lashes and pulls him back down greedily. Long, flexible legs wrap around Otabek's back. Their lips meet again and this time it's wildfire as Otabek takes him in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, lapping champagne and lemon-raspberry chapstick from Yuri's mouth. Fire razes down his middle, settling at his crotch as Yuri grinds against him. It isn't long until their breaths are hot and heavy, lips nipping at smiles and hair wrapped tightly around fists.</p><p>“Had a little to drink?” Otabek asks.</p><p>“Fuck off. Just a sip,” Yuri says, latching on and drawing Otabek back in like waves— beating, beating, beautiful.</p><p>“Finally!!” JJ's loud voice breaks the moment and Otabek pulls away just enough to look into Yuri's wide eyes.</p><p>“You didn't lock the door chain behind you?” Otabek asks quietly and quickly.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Yuri bites back, flicking his gaze away.</p><p>Otabek reluctantly releases his grip in Yuri's hair and sits up next to Yuri, taking a deep breath before regarding JJ coolly.</p><p>“Oh, don't stop on my behalf!” JJ laughs, but walks closer to them, then past them, and plops himself down on the unoccupied bed right beside them.</p><p>Yuri stands quickly and retrieves his discarded tie. His hair is mussed <i>like Otabek just had his hands buried in it</i> and his eyes are puffy. To Otabek's surprise, he doesn't look angry, only flustered as he mumbles something about seeing them tomorrow and darts from the room, music still playing from his phone.</p><p>Otabek takes another deep breath, closing his eyes to ground himself back on this plane of existence.</p><p>“When'd you finally make the move, Beks?” JJ asks, his voice far too boisterous for the thin hotel walls.</p><p>“I'm not sure when it began,” Otabek answers honestly. There's no timestamp on the dance of his feelings— admiration, desire, possession— they all swirl endlessly around Yuri and manifest in a colorful glissade.</p><p>JJ relents easily. Presumably, he notices the genuine confusion and uncertainty that grips Otabek. Yuri is Alkonost reincarnated. An androgynous beauty that lives wild and free.</p><p>Who is Otabek to pin and cage that?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Otabek is still nervous to reveal his Exhibition Skate to the world.</p><p>The grainy photo he receives from an unknown number doesn't make him feel any better.</p><p>The image is of a building, the low-quality camera zoomed in on a window to capture an image in equally low-quality lighting. It's difficult to make out much of anything, but context is everything. He sees gold hair lit up by the glow of a lamp, the sleeve of his own jacket hangs on the wall, and a blurry splotch of his own dark hair is almost just out of frame.</p><p>
  <b>Can't believe we're neighbors!</b>
</p><p>The accompanying message is innocent, but his heart beats itself bloody against the cage of his chest anyway, because that's a picture of Yuri entering <i>his</i> room. That's <i>his</i> jacket and those were <i>his</i> moments in time to share only with <i>his</i> Yuri, minutes before they kissed.</p><p>Thank the stars you can't see his bed from that angle.</p><p>Green lights speckle the ice as Otabek skates out, four steady spotlights trained on him. He scoops his feelings together and screws the cap on tight. There's no time for this right now.</p><p>The beat begins, calm in the beginning, and he skates to it easily. He shreds the ice, building up tension along with the song, then falls to a slide when the bass drops. </p><p>The rest of his program is interspersed with hip hop he picked up while training in America, but he's most excited for the drop at the two and a half minute mark, when his program goes full aggressive hip hop, firm arms and stomps before he glides off in a series of flips, turns, and spins.</p><p>Otabek is used to feeling in his element on the ice, but he's never felt this <i>free</i>. He loves this choreography. It's fast and fun. When he first asked an old colleague from America to choreograph something like this for him, he felt timid and in over his head, but on the ice now he feels how much of a mistake his anxiety had been.</p><p>The crowd roars for him. He bows, high on the performance, then bows again to the other side, fueling even more cheers.</p><p>He passes Yuri as he exits the ice, only briefly glimpsing the shit-eating grin that adorns his face before taking to the ice himself.</p><p>Otabek stays by the side lines, catching his breath, wanting to be as close to Yuri's performance as possible.</p><p>The lights shift to burn firm circles of red and yellow on the ice, overlapping at orange intervals. The crowd roars with excitement as Yuri skates to the center with raised arms and a bright smile. It's much louder than even Otabek's applause had been and Yuri hasn't even skated yet. Otabek tries not to let it bother him. Yuri's the third-time gold champion of the GPF, blazing ahead to take Worlds by the horns again in just three short months.</p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHa1tTaaSjg%22">The song</a> begins. Gentle electric guitar fills the room with a steady back beat as Yuri glides over the ice. </p><p>Otabek has seen a lifetime worth of fire-themed costumes in his career, but the flames licking up Yuri's body are a sight to behold. His pants are tight black and blend right into his black skates, bold against the white ice even in the dark. He's pure sex as he fills the stadium, flitting from one side to the other, until the song builds and he launches to the air, perfectly in sync with the music as the beat of the chorus drops, soft and sensual with the guitar riff.</p><p>
  <i>Do me like a drug</i>
</p><p>Otabek sees why Yuri might have experienced some push back on this particular music choice. He's probably right to assume Lilia might not be the biggest fan of this number. It isn't the first time he's heard such a suggestive song in skating (especially a gala), but he can't help but be thankful the GPF is in Canada this year. It's a solidly easier sell in a Western culture.</p><p>Yuri doesn't hold back on this gala. Multiple flawless flying camel spins and striking quads all perfectly timed. It's the most enticing choreography he thinks he's ever seen from Yuri— all traveling hands and swishing hips. Spread legs and longing looks. He's a beautiful idiot performing his best for no judges.</p><p>And Yuri did this himself? <i>And insisted that Otabek watch?</i> It's a seduction on ice and Otabek is hot for it.</p><p>Otabek can barely contain himself when Yuri steps off the ice, beaming at him as he pants for breath.</p><p>“What'd you think?” Yuri asks with a coy smile. Otabek has never seen that face with an audience— outside of the comfort of a closed door and only each other.</p><p>On national television as two men from homophobic countries, Otabek does the best thing he can: pull Yuri into a warm, full hug. It's a fine compromise from lifting Yuri by his ass, placing him on the ice rink wall, and shoving his tongue down his throat until he comes.</p><p>They file back out onto the ice one at a time, music thrumming and acrobats swirling from the ceiling. This tacky and unnecessary finale is always Otabek's least favorite part of the gala. Yuri stands in line before him, pulling full-finger gloves onto his hands. The music thrums in Otabek's ears, bass rumbling in his chest. Otabek trains his eye on anything but the perfect curve of Yuri's back as he slides onto the ice.</p><p>But Yuri demands his attention when he turns to skate backwards, winks at Otabek, then skates into a quad with a beautiful, leaping exit...</p><p>and then an adorable cartwheel? No wonder he'd put on gloves. Sweet Allah, Otabek's in love.</p><p>Otabek almost misses his cue, but skates out with great speed, across the ice, around the edge, and lands a 4-3. Because if Yuri is going to risk injury for this stupid show, then Otabek is going to as well. The crowd roars as he joins the skaters standing by the side, clapping along to the persistent beat of the song.</p><p>They circle up, like they always do, some silly hokey pokey, clapping as confetti pours and twirls around them. It's painful to be back on the ice for this, even more so than usual, when all he wants to do is drag Yuri back to his room and see how many times he can make Yuri come.</p><p>They go through the motions of showering, changing, thanking people, being thanked, and then subsequently being bombarded by fans. </p><p>Otabek's fans are mostly tall, mature women with thick red lipstick and tight, black pants. It's apparently the <i>thing</i> his fans do. They're flirty and more handsy than Otabek would like, drooling over his program and whining that he <i>must</i> do something like that again. Otabek tries not think about the way some of his fans' eyes seem to linger on Yuri with envy. The photo of their stolen moment snags in Otabek's brain.</p><p>Yuri eventually pulls him away, sneaking curious glances at Otabek as they make their way back to Yuri's hotel room. Otabek takes his hand softly in the elevator and offers him a smile. Yuri just looks surprised and blushes— <i>God</i> those sweet blushes— and averts his gaze to his shoes.</p><p>They're on each other as soon as they're in the safe privacy of Yuri's hotel suit. Otabek assesses the window curtains quickly (closed) and pushes Yuri against the wall to rut himself against Yuri's thigh, taking his mouth with hot need. The champagne and fruity chapstick taste from before is absent and Yuri just tastes like <i>Yuri.</i></p><p>“Did you come prepared?” Otabek asks between kisses, grinding his cock slowly against Yuri's through their clothes, hand buried in his delicate blond hair.</p><p>“If you think I didn't bring lube to a country like Canada, you're crazy,” Yuri says defensively, but with the lilt of a tease.</p><p>Otabek can't help but allow a clipped, nervous laugh to break free. He understands. Yuri hasn't had the privilege of spending quite as much time outside of their region of the globe as Otabek has.</p><p>Yuri digs the supplies out of his bag and tosses them on the bed, then lies on his back, presenting himself. Otabek removes his own clothes swiftly, not interested in the strip tease they ended up giving each other the last time, and Yuri follows suit, tossing his clothes to the floor until he's laid out naked on the bed for him.</p><p>Otabek drapes himself over Yuri, his skin lighting up everywhere they touch. The tune of Yuri's exhibition skate plays though his head somewhere in the background as he takes Yuri in their first nude kiss, smooth skin against skin with every shift. He warms the lube on his finger then touches Yuri softly, watching his face for permission.</p><p>They haven't discussed this, but it doesn't look like they need to when Otabek slips a single finger in and Yuri throws his head back with a satisfied moan.</p><p>"I couldn't wait to get you back here," Otabek drips his voice over Yuri's skin. "To open you like this."</p><p>There's something deeply satisfying about sinking his middle finger into Yuri. Yuri shivers and keens beneath him as Otabek's fucks him slow. Yuri is just so fucking pretty and Otabek curses quietly as he adds another finger.</p><p>Preparing Yuri is not a quick affair. The process of stretching a man to take him for the first time always seems to last longer than the sex itself. It usually comes with a hot impatience curling in Otabek's gut, but Yuri is rewriting the book and Otabek is in no rush to turn the page.</p><p>Yuri is as perfect down there as he is everywhere else— wet, pink, pert, and gorgeous. It doesn't go unnoticed that Yuri likely <i>cleaned</i> himself for this ahead of time, anticipating that Otabek might touch him this way. It does things to Otabek. His stomach flutters as he imagines Yuri preparing himself like a gift.</p><p>Otabek can't help himself. He moves down Yuri's body, pushes up his thighs, and puts his tongue between his legs, plunging in to slowly lick the walls of his ass.</p><p>"Your hole is <i>immaculate,</i> Yura," he breathes against the private spot he's licked wet.</p><p>"You're <i>dirty,</i> Altin."</p><p>Otabek says nothing more. He continues lapping up the sweet, lightly musky taste of Yuri— so much like his dick tastes, only stronger and more intimate. Otabek's chest pounds to a rhythm that is certain he wants Yuri as his husband.</p><p>Yuri opens his legs with the ease of a ballet dancer and Otabek takes in the view: muscled thighs tensing, puckered hole, long cock bobbing beneath a gentle tuft of blond hair. He's breathtaking.</p><p>Otabek rolls a condom on and slowly slots himself neatly into the space Yuri has made for him. He cages Yuri with arms at both sides, palms flat on the mattress. Then he sinks in, pushing forward as Yuri opens for him, throws his head back and parts his lips for him, welcomes him in like he's always belonged there.</p><p>Otabek is experienced. He's been with a man many times and he's fairly confident he's good at sex. But his nerves are alight as his stomach churns with anxious pleasure.</p><p>He feels like his chest is peeled open, raw and vulnerable as Yuri looks up at him with those bright green eyes, hair fallen around him like some beautiful sin written just to be Otabek's undoing. Yuri's chest rises and falls. A blush dusts his cheeks and he clenches on Otabek as he wiggles just enough to free his arms and ghost his fingers on Otabek's back.</p><p>It's too fucking much all at once. Yuri's eyes dart around Otabek's face, searching like Yuri can feel his anxiety through is skin. The hand at Otabek's back steadies, bracing.</p><p>And then Yuri rolls his hips up, slow, watching Otabek for his reaction with wide, pleading eyes. Yuri's teeth catch his own bottom lip and he whimpers so softly, so quietly, that Otabek wishes he'd been licking into Yuri's mouth to drink in that sweet sound. A breathy string of pleas involuntarily rush from Otabek's lips in Shala Kazakh; the rushed slush of Kazakh, Russian, and English pushing from his lungs with desperation.</p><p>Only Yuri can do this to him.</p><p>Yuri's hands wrap gently around the column of his neck, palms on his jaw and fingers splayed at the base of his skull. Nails scratch through his undercut. A thumb brushes affectionately across his jaw bone. And then Yuri rolls again.</p><p>A demented coil of immature possessiveness strikes Otabek and the beast within stirs. Teeth and tongue drag over Yuri's chest, marking him, claiming him, groaning hot against his skin as he erases the touch of others. Otabek is ruined, now. Ruined for anyone that isn't Yuri and he wants Yuri to crumble down with him.</p><p>Everyone has a darkness. Maybe once the moment passes, Otabek will be embarrassed that Yuri has seen his.</p><p>But Yuri arches up into the assault, moaning his name— Beka. <i>Beka...</i>— like pleas to make him forget anyone from before.</p><p>Yuri pleasures Otabek deep within him, moaning when his cock slides on the hot skin of Otabek's abdomen. His powerful green eyes cloud with desire, begging Otabek for something, anything, everything he is.</p><p>Otabek delivers. He grips Yuri's hip, angles him up, and massages himself inside.</p><p>"Yura...”</p><p>He is a drug, just like that stupid exhibition skate song said. Otabek strokes himself into Yuri carefully, allowing time for him to adjust, and Yuri is as much a firestorm in bed as every other aspect of his life. He claws at Otabek's chest, his arms, his back. Pants hot, heavy breaths. Squirms under Otabek like it's almost too much but he loves to take it.</p><p>“You feel <i>divine,”</i> Otabek praises. Yuri closes his eyes and throws his head back again and Otabek loses it. He needs Yuri's eyes on him. Loving with him, breaking with him.</p><p>“Watch me while I take you,” Otabek tells Yuri, but his voice is gentle like a question.</p><p>Yuri whimpers when Otabek spears in deeply, then allows the sound to cascade from his lips as a long, lusty moan.</p><p>Maybe Yuri's good at sex, too.</p><p>Otabek wonders what it would have been like to take a virgin Yuri; to fuck awake this magnificent vixen sleeping within him.</p><p>But when Yuri locks his gaze with Otabek, fire burning in his emerald eyes, he wouldn't have it any other way. This Yuri has seen it all. Tried it all. Yet here he is, greedily snatching something from Otabek he's tried time and again to find elsewhere and <i>failed.</i></p><p>"Oh, god, <i>Otabek,"</i> Yuri shakes. Fire razes through Otabek's veins at hearing his name— his proper name— on Yuri's breathy tongue, like Yuri needs to confirm for himself who exactly is inside of him. Yuri rakes bright red marks down Otabek's arms. His eyes are two green seas of depth Otabek knows should be frightening, but he dives right into.</p><p>How can he not, with those wicked eyes? Those eyes that first ripped him open and pulled him forward by his soul. The eyes of a soldier, he'd told Yuri once, but they're so much more. They're the eyes of a rainforest too expansive for one man's gaze. The eyes of stallion mounted warrior. The eyes of a terrible brat, a precious gift, and the keeper of the stars.</p><p>"Can I try something?" Otabek asks close to Yuri's ear.</p><p>“Anything,” Yuri breathes softly. Long fingers pull away from Otabek's hair and Yuri lies back, watching Otabek for his next move. Yuri is showing him pure vulnerability and it's marvelous in its rarity.</p><p>Otabek sits up and pulls Yuri up by his wrist. Yuri laughs freely as he follows. It's infectious and Otabek finds himself laughing, too. Maybe because it's funny they haven't done this sooner. Or because his nerves are buzzing anxiously to slide his length back into Yuri. Or maybe he's just truly happy in this moment as Yuri settles against him.</p><p>Hands wrap around Otabek once more as Yuri presses their foreheads together. Yuri's taking big gulping breaths, still beaming a stupid big smile. His knees rest on the bed at Otabek's sides as he steadies himself. Just the tip of Otabek is poking into him and Yuri's smile fades to a soft gasp as he sits on Otabek, squeezing all of him inside. Yuri's face transforms with every inch and he doesn't flinch away for even a second, showing every beautiful expression to Otabek.</p><p>Otabek hears a low, rumbling sound rise in his own throat as Yuri lets out a content hum once he's fully seated in his lap, like being full of Otabek's cock completes him in some way, and damn if that isn't an intoxicating thought.</p><p>This position is so much more. Yuri is all around him, wrapping him, consuming him. Otabek angles so he can roll his hips with Yuri. He's certain he's hitting Yuri's prostate just right when his mouth opens and his entire body quakes. Otabek rolls on the spot again and Yuri's body jerks as he lets out a desperate, needy sound Otabek's never heard before. </p><p>The Figure Skating World Champion grinds down on Otabek's length for more of it, panting and moaning, and something about that goes right to Otabek's ego.<br/>
Otabek isn't sure if he's swimming or drowning. </p><p>Or flying. Or burning.</p><p>But it has to be one of those things, because it's just too much to believe he's having sex with the most incredible person he's ever met. Everything blurs into a kaleidoscope of heat and pleasure. Hot breaths and wet kisses. Green eyes and pink, swollen lips. Blushing cheeks and messy blond hair. He's completely lost in it until Yuri's voice calls him back.</p><p>"You're incredible, Beka," Yuri breathes, and then Otabek is definitely sure Yuri is good at sex— spectacular at sex— when he starts to ride Otabek in mind-numbing circles, rolling his hips unlike anything he's ever felt before.</p><p>"I can't believe you've been <i>hiding</i> this from me," Yuri comments in very Yuri-like fashion, still panting and moaning on his dick, but with a hint of trademark Plisetsky irritation. Otabek can't believe it either, but then the anxiety threatens to pierce this faultless moment and remind him exactly why. </p><p>He's the sun, Otabek. The same thing that draws you to him is the same thing that will burn you alive.</p><p>Otabek pushes the thought away with forced indifference. </p><p>"Wasn't so hidden,” he counters flatly.</p><p>Yuri takes a break from the rolling of his hips and damn has he earned it.</p><p>"Bullshit, Beka, I've been putting up signals for <i>years,</i>" Yuri comments flippantly.</p><p>Otabek kisses Yuri again. He brushes against his wet, puffy lips and licks him out slowly. Their hips roll.</p><p>"Just let me take care of you. <i>Aynalayin,"</i> Otabek breathes against his lips, sucking Yuri's bottom lip between his teeth and releasing with a soft plop.</p><p>The word falls from his lips before he can even think. <i>Aynalayin.</i> It's a sweet word in Kazakh. It's full of love and a pure desire to protect. A word intended for only the most precious of people in his life. </p><p>And it's never felt more right to say than in this moment.</p><p>Otabek wraps his hand around the weight of Yuri's neglected cock. Yuri seemingly doesn't need much else from him. He has something thick to clench on and he moans without shame.</p><p>Being inside of Yuri is the best place he's ever been. It's warm velvet and fuchsia hues, Yuri's body pulling him into his wet heat again and again as Yuri paints his soul onto Otabek's skin with the tips of his fingers.</p><p>"Fuck, Beka... Just like that," he coaxes, raking his nails down Otabek's arms as he jerks and clenches on his shaft. "You're so good, Beka... this is <i>so good.</i>"</p><p>Yuri doesn't even warn him before he comes, covering Otabek's palm and dripping onto his chest. Otabek kisses him again. He can't get enough of it as Yuri comes down from his orgasm. Otabek jerks his hips into Yuri gently, just enjoying the feeling of being with him and not seeking much else.</p><p>“How have you not come yet?” Yuri asks harshly, though the words breeze over Otabek like the most gentle of compliments.</p><p>“Not sure I can,” Otabek answers.</p><p>“What?” Yuri exclaims, much louder than necessary.</p><p>Yuri might as well have doused a liter of gasoline on his self esteem. Otabek looks off to the side as he holds Yuri's hips gently in the palms of his hands. </p><p>“Mm,” he hums affirmatively, unwilling to offer more of himself.</p><p>He's afraid he's disappointed Yuri in some way. This hasn't happened to him since he first lost his virginity as a young teen, way too nervous to settle into the space in his brain required to achieve orgasm.</p><p>Yuri lifts from his lap and Otabek's half-hard cock flops out pathetically. Yuri gently pulls the condom off of him and plants a kiss to the tip.</p><p>“Is that seriously a blush from the Hero of Kazakhstan?” Yuri asks with the most pure amount of care before draping his legs over one side of Otabek's lap and snuggling in. He hangs in Otabek's trembling arms, nestled in the over-stimulated quake of his legs, looking up at him with nothing but pure adoration. Otabek appraises the scratches running up and down his own arms, red and violent.</p><p>“Just like a kitten,” Otabek says but Yuri just pinches his brows together. “The scratches,” Otabek adds, gesturing.</p><p>“Oh,” Yuri says. “Those look bad.”</p><p>“Those look beautiful,” Otabek corrects, cradling Yuri as the nerves subside and leave behind a quiet calm.</p><p>“What does a word like <i>aynalayin</i> mean, anyway?” Yuri asks him curiously. “It's like mirroring or something?”</p><p>Otabek swells with pride. It's honestly a very good attempt at decoding the word. Otabek has never prided himself on his translation skills, but he ponders for a bit before giving it his best shot. </p><p>“It is something you say when you want to protect someone. When they are very dear to you. It is a common word in my family. Many people use the word to refer to Umida.”</p><p>Yuri scrunches his nose. “And you said that bullshit to me? While you were <i>fucking me?”</i></p><p>Otabek lets out a puff of air almost like a laugh in reply. He supposes how that may sound to an outsider of the culture and language, but stands by the certainty that flooded him when the word came to his tongue so effortlessly.</p><p>His brain hyper focuses instead on the last four words of the sentence, <i>you were fucking me,</i> because yes, that's what just happened. Otabek fucked Yuri Plisetsky.</p><p>And he wants to fuck him again and again— up, down, sideways, fast and hard, sweet and slow— he's addicted to the long drag of his cock in and out of Yuri now that he knows how bad Yuri wants it.</p><p>“Now food,” Yuri demands, springing to life and seeking out his clothing. Otabek watches him gather his clothes for a moment before reluctantly doing the same, his feet protesting with a dull ache but the rumble of his stomach willing him onward.</p><p>They end up at a french restaurant near the water, ordering different things to split so they can try more dishes. They've been doing this for years, but now it feels more intimate as they spoon food onto each other's plates in a dim-lit corner of a quiet restaurant less than an hour after Yuri came all over his chest, full of Otabek's dick.</p><p>The walk back is along the boardwalk and Yuri pauses to lean on the banister, gazing out over the water. Otabek opens his mouth to tell Yuri about the photo, but something about the wayward look on Yuri's face stops him.</p><p>“I'm starting to get like stupid Viktor,” Yuri grumbles. “The water always reminds me of Saint Petersburg.”</p><p>Otabek watches the horizon quietly as the small lights of passing boats flicker by. The sound of a horn blares from somewhere far away, echoed over the flat expanse of bay stretched before them. Otabek remembers when Yuri felt far away, a quiet boat passing in the night.</p><p>“What the fuck were you waiting so long for?” Yuri asks, apparently a man of curiosities after a good lay.</p><p>Otabek isn't sure he wants to answer that question, but Yuri's soft, impatient eyes scanning over the black-night water convince him otherwise. He's a coward. It took a pile of invasive displays from a stalker to scare him into wrapping his arms around Yuri for mutual protection.</p><p>“You frighten me, Yura,” Otabek answers honestly.</p><p>Otabek sees Yuri's lips purse together from the corner of his eye. Yuri pulls his hands together where they hang over the banister to inspect them nervously. He tenses on a shiver as a cold breeze hits them.</p><p>“I am frightened that I want you to desire only me,” Otabek elaborates, hoping that's enough. Yuri's fidgeting stops, but he doesn't dare look Otabek in the eyes. </p><p>Yuri looks beautiful in the low glow of the streetlamps. His lissome arms drape gracefully over the banister, one leg poised up on the lower rung. His blond hair peeks messily from beneath his black hood as he makes a straight face at the water. Yuri is celestial— it doesn't matter whether you wrap him in moonlight or lay him in the sun. He'll always glow. </p><p>Otabek can tell when Yuri needs more from him. He's waiting patiently for Otabek to select his words and illuminate the space between them.</p><p>“I may not be able to share you,” Otabek adds with finality.</p><p>Yuri blinks at him suddenly, confused. Otabek catches sight of two fresh mouth bruises on Yuri's neck, shadowed in the shade of his hood, and he swells with not shame or embarrassment, but victory.</p><p>“What's wrong with that?” Yuri asks bluntly.</p><p>Otabek sighs. How could he expect Yuri to understand, with the whole world at his feet? </p><p>“To limit yourself to the eyes of one would be a waste of your brilliance,” Otabek says.</p><p>“Not if they're your eyes,” Yuri counters confidently. Otabek is still unaccustomed to hearing such blatant affection from Yuri. Their relationship has always been a lot of push and pull. Of interpretation and understood silences.</p><p>Otabek isn't sure what to do with the words as they wisp through his chest and warm his cheeks.</p><p>“Tch, come on, Beka,” Yuri says irritably, turning toward him and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Don't pretend like you don't know I'm in love with you already.”</p><p>Yuri's hair flows lightly in the breeze as he watches him. The words sink easily into Otabek's skin. They're words he's felt from Yuri for a long time, but never quite parsed what kind of love they share. </p><p>“Love takes on many forms,” Otabek levels. A beat of silence passes between them before Yuri takes out his phone. </p><p>“Whatever,” he says, obviously grown impatient with the exchange of delicate words. Otabek continues to watch the gentle waves lap at the harbor wall, the stars ripple over the reflection of the bay.</p><p>“What the fuck is this hag's problem?” Yuri interrupts his inner quiet right on their usual schedule. Otabek knows he's referring to his fan jokingly (how is it funny?) threatening to harm Otabek, but has nothing to offer. There's nothing to be done about that level of passion. Ugliness born from a deep, all-consuming admiration is beyond logic.</p><p>It could have been him, he supposes, in a different life: desperate for any attention from Yuri he could muster.</p><p>Yuri immediately sets to work shutting the fan down, essentially sicking the rest of his fans on the poor girl. Otabek is both entranced and horrified, imagining a crying girl somewhere on the other side of the world, her idol having hurt her in what she might perceive as an unexpected attack.</p><p>But he also feels stupid, if only a little, when he sees how effective it is. He remains quiet, processing his warring emotions, disapproving of Yuri's outlash yet thankful for it all the same.</p><p>“Is it really so simple?” Otabek asks. He's been spending the season terrified of his own fans. Watching Yuri take his own down with a couple of words on the internet makes him feel foolish.</p><p>“Da,” Yuri finishes his work quietly, tapping at his phone. He glances up at Otabek briefly. “You're hiding something.”</p><p>Otabek frowns. Yuri glares at him until he relents, handing Yuri his phone with the picture from just before their kiss on the screen.</p><p>Yuri studies the image for a moment, then recognition flickers across his face.</p><p>“This is perfect, Beka!”</p><p>Otabek blinks at him. </p><p>“You have their number, now,” Yuri explains.</p><p>“You're not concerned?” Otabek asks.</p><p>“Nah.”</p><p>“They've threatened you multiple times.”</p><p>“They're bluffing,” Yuri says with confidence, then laughs dryly to himself. “Probably think it's a funny joke.”</p><p>Ah, so Otabek is right. It is some kind of weird internet humor. Otabek doesn't understand what is funny about hurting others, but those corners of the internet are strange places that he visits infrequently.</p><p>He notices Yuri shiver against the breeze as he crafts a very public message calling out Otabek's fan. He confesses, on Otabek's behalf, that a fan is sabotaging him to the point of considering retirement (a little dramatic, Yura, but okay).</p><p>It's simple enough, but this never would have even crossed Otabek's mind. It happens swiftly. Yuri's Angels are all over the issue, acting fast to express their shock and horror through a sea of emojis. </p><p>Then Yuri asks a friend to comment with the superfan's phone number because he is a slimy, conniving, social media genius. In a matter of minutes, the superfan outs herself on social media and grovels for forgiveness.</p><p>“What do you think the Angels are saying to her?” Otabek asks as he watches the whole thing play out over Yuri's shoulder. It feels wrong, but isn't stealing his suitcase and threatening Yuri <i>more</i> wrong? Even <i>if</i> it is intended as a joke?</p><p>Dread laces through Otabek's veins like an omen.</p><p>“Not my problem,” Yuri says without looking up. “Shouldn't have fucked with my boyfriend.”</p><p>The words <i>my boyfriend</i> catch Otabek. He's in over his head, submerged in two easy words from Yuri's mouth, but Yuri's fingers just continue to tap a steady rhythm on his phone like the title was completely obvious to the both of them.</p><p>They walk back to the hotel, Otabek feeling glum and dirty. It doesn't feel good at all to take down his superfan. It gnaws at him late into the night as he reads over her series of distressed, seemingly frantic replies and posts. Yuri is openly annoyed with him, glaring daggers as Otabek obsessively reads over the messages again and again. His stomach feels like decay, like something is still unresolved.</p><p>Eventually, he tags his superfan in a fresh post. She looks young. Really young. Young enough to not have much ability to fully evaluate her own actions.</p><p><b>You are forgiven.</b> is all Otabek says, but he knows he can't end the firestorm of hate flung her way.</p><p>“Feel better, Beka?” Yuri asks with a condescending air.</p><p>“Perhaps I will retire,” Otabek deadpans.</p><p>Yuri pushes him in the chest. “Oh fuck <i>off</i> Beka. <i>One</i> crazy fan and you're already talking about leaving me.” The words are harsh and Otabek is thankful he's here to watch Yuri's lips almost crack a smile.</p><p>“As if I could,” Otabek says steadily.</p><p>Yuri blushes. A feather light layer of snow sticks to the window sill. Otabek imagines sinking into a pile of ice to let his skin sting until everything goes numb.</p><p>“What if we go public? Y'know, on my professional account this time,” Yuri suggests suddenly, then adds. “Just an idea.”</p><p>“If you'd like that,” Otabek answers.</p><p>Yuri selects a photo of the two of them just after their exhibition skates. Otabek hadn't known they were being photographed in that moment— the one where he wanted to devour Yuri as soon as he stepped off the ice— but there they are, frozen in time. Not much is seen of Yuri in the photo, only the elegant curve of his back and his braided crown of golden hair, but you can see Otabek's face clear as day, looking at Yuri like he's the only thing in the world worth looking at.</p><p>The caption reads: <b>I think he liked my exhibition skate #heroofkazakhstan #myhero #altinym #stopasking</b></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HI. I have resisted making an A/N for every single costume, program song, fic inspiration, etc. throughout the fic, but the following I just couldn't resist.</p><p>1- <a href="https://youtu.be/8yo8nRt_DKc">This gala skate</a> by Denis Ten (which is one of my favorite things on the internet, seriously, I think 100 of the views are from me alone) is basically how I imagine Otabek's skate, though I think he would have chosen different music. 2:30 makes me smile every single time. If link broken, try searching Denis Ten gala or exhibition skate until you find the one to the song "Lose Yourself" (remix).</p><p>2- Can we talk about how wild the gala finales get? I based the one in this fic on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QKYZl95tIw"> this nonsense</a>, lol. Like this shit just makes me smile. Nathan Chen does a back flip because he is Nathan Chen. GOD I LOVE FIGURE SKATING U GUYS.</p><p>P.S. The song Yuri skates to (linked in fic) is Do Me Like a Drug by Emmanuel Franco and it's pretty much the reason this fic stands before you today lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! Fellow otayuri friends might want to read the very short (!CANON) manga/comic that takes place before Yuri skates to Welcome to the Madness if you haven't already. It's some good extra !canon and also it will be referenced briefly in this chapter.<br/>Uh here's a link that hopefully continues to work? <a href="https://aminoapps.com/c/yuri-on-ice-4114513/page/blog/welcome-to-the-madness-manga-full-ver/QjVQ_xEtXueqGabzKoQnVoMbNzmEVpVwba">Link for Welcome to the madness comic</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>OTABEK</p><p>“Don't forget to pick up my lady items!” Umida calls as Otabek shuts the door behind him, car keys jingling in his hands. She always does this— always behaves like he's going to be uncomfortable picking up menstrual products when in no world has he ever shied away from natural, human needs. </p><p>The moon is heavy and swollen in the sky, lighting up the short walk over to the garage. </p><p>Grocery shopping is a calming experience for Otabek. The clear display of choices to simply select from is comforting compared to the illusive options for dealing with real life problems. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he lifts it to his ear without checking the screen, balancing his hand basket on one leg.</p><p>“Allo?”</p><p>
  <i>Beks! Long time, no see!</i>
</p><p>Otabek shuffles his groceries with a huff and regards his phone screen, just to be sure. Sure enough...</p><p>“JJ,” Otabek greets him stiffly. “What time is it there?”</p><p>
  <i>Bright and early, my friend! The only time I can reach you.</i>
</p><p>Otabek grunts at that, shuffling to switch his groceries to a rolling cart and balancing the phone on his shoulder.</p><p>“A text can be sent at any hour,” Otabek comments. It isn't often that JJ calls him, and typically, Otabek is more careful to check his caller ID. He casually notices a man in a blue hoodie staring at him. Not uncommon, really. He is a professional athlete. Otabek returns the man's gaze and the man disappears down an aisle.</p><p>
  <i>I always prefer to talk!</i>
</p><p>Otabek rolls his eyes and checks his crumpled shopping list. Umida has written everything in elegant Arabic script because she's studying the language at a higher level and being a pedant runs in the family. Otabek's brain lags running over the words, slower to decipher their meaning.</p><p>
  <i>You know how I always get home and leave my bags in a corner...</i>
</p><p>What does this say, Umida? Was the shopping list really the most appropriate time to flex on language skills? JJ's voice plays in the background, barely noticed.</p><p>
  <i>...and then days later Isabella finally makes me unpack...</i>
</p><p>Oh, she means <i>flour.</i></p><p>
  <i>...well I finally got around to it today and lo and behold...</i>
</p><p>Otabek notices the same hooded figure from earlier eyeing him at the checkout line.</p><p>
  <i>...it looks like I have your journal!</i>
</p><p>“My what?” Otabek asks, interest finally piqued.</p><p>
  <i>Well it isn't mine!</i>
</p><p>Otabek's heart picks up speed a bit as he thanks the cashier and moves quickly out of the store to load his car, the hooded man's eyes following him the whole way.</p><p>“Nor is it mine, but feel free to send it to my home address. Could be Yura's,” Otabek responds, glancing over his shoulder nervously. “I have to go.”</p><p>
  <i>Okay, okay! Later B-</i>
</p><p>Otabek hangs up before he can hear the last of JJ's farewell. He loads the trunk of the car, slams the hood down, and then sees the man approaching him. The high lights of the parking lot illuminate in fragments that the man dodges, fast on his feet, face concealed in shadows.</p><p>“Fuck off,” Otabek warns, voice firm as he stands by the driver's side door, slotting his keys between his knuckles. It isn't the first time Otabek has confronted a creep. He's a city boy with an expensive car, but he's far from a fighter.</p><p>The man stills, but watches him. A few people exiting the store lag to watch and whisper, then the man takes one more step forward.</p><p>“I said fuck <i>off</i>, asshole,” Otabek threatens with more venom, his fist clenched tightly. A woman calls after the man from the store's entrance, demanding the hooded figure return to pay for his things, and the man darts away, ducking between cars.</p><p>Otabek exhales with relief and gets quickly into his car. The fuel gauge is dangerously close to empty and Otabek groans. <i>Umida...</i></p><p>He doesn't think much of the car behind him that turns left after him until it also turns right into the fueling station. Otabek texts Umida quickly as he fills the car.</p><p>
  <b>Fuel station down the road. Emergency. Don't call. Send help.</b>
</p><p>Squeaky brakes pull his attention from his phone as the car stops head-first in front of his, blocking his path with the brights on high, blinding him.</p><p>Otabek's heart beats in his ears. He raises his hand to bock the light. A car door opens and slams, the headlights dousing him in oppressive bright. Something metal drags on the ground.</p><p>The man steps in front of the car, heavy metal bat dragging behind him, feet crunching on icy road. Otabek can't make out his face as he stands darkened by the lights behind him.</p><p>Otabek slots the pump to its holder and moves to get in his car. He can still reverse the car, maybe, and get away just...</p><p>“Don't even fucking THINK about it!” the dark silhouette of a man calls so sharply it rattles in Otabek's brain. The man moves with fury. The sound of metal clashing with glass slices through the air. The bat hits the windshield once, twice, three times, a shattering <i>crack crack crack</i> that evokes phantom pain in Otabek's skull, his bones burning. </p><p>A spiderweb crack shattered in place stretches long over the car, as long as this moment in time, horrific and slow motion.</p><p>Otabek's blood runs cold as his heart continues to thunder in his ears. He puts his fists up, trying to look confident, but he's just a lamb in a lion's cage. The shadow of a man approaches, raising his bat.</p><p>Otabek runs.</p><p>He ducks low through parked cars, abandoned overnight for the garage attached to the station.</p><p>His legs move under him like they're brand new. He's too scared for precision, tripping over his own feet and sliding on the icy ground as the crunchy thud of footsteps chasing him grows louder.</p><p>The man is faster.</p><p>“This is YOUR FUCKING FAULT,” the man cries with manic anger. Otabek physically cowers against the wall around the side of the building, the scratchy texture of the unfinished brick catching at his clothes. A red light blinks above him on the eye of a security camera that he hopes will be his saving grace.</p><p>Otabek ducks to cover his head, trying to lessen the blow. He's nothing against a cold metal bat with only his bare hands. The man is big and Otabek is not a fighter.</p><p>He's not met with the cold thud of metal, but a hand yanking him up by his hair, pain like daggers in his skull. The man smells of alcohol and decay as a firm fist thuds on Otabek's jaw, blunt and aching.</p><p>“YOU fucking did this!” the man hisses. Another fist cracks into Otabek's face. His mouth tastes of metal. Burning tar churns in his belly. Everything is blurred.</p><p>But the man is also not a fighter. Hard knuckles collide with Otabek's face a few more times. The air rockets from Otabek's lungs on one final blow to the gut.</p><p>He just hopes the man doesn't break his knees.</p><p>The man pulls away and wrings his hands in pain, yelling out curses. Otabek sinks to the ground, groaning as fire razes through his body. The cold ground that smells of piss and dog shit is a welcome friend. Blood drips from the man's fingers and Otabek doesn't know if it's his own. The man turns to the side and vomits orange and rotten onto the pavement a short distance from where Otabek lies.</p><p>Adrenaline fading, the drunken man drops to his knees and sobs into his red hands, blubbering words Otabek only half understands through the fog of pain and adrenaline pumping through him, chanting <i>run, run, run.</i></p><p>But he can't run. Umida knows he is here and the camera is watching.</p><p>Shreds of cloud blow swiftly across the swollen moon, spread like cobwebs as thoughts move too quickly through his synapses. He decides to stay put.</p><p>Otabek moves his jaw in a circle and pain lances to the back of his skull. He touches below his mouth and his finger comes back wet with blood.</p><p>“She fucking jumped because of you,” the man accuses with hate and something about that statement aligns Otabek's senses briefly enough to speak.</p><p>“Who?” Otabek asks on a wheeze. He winces from the pain of speaking, clutching his stomach and watching the man for his reaction.</p><p>“My sister...” the man sobs harder at the words. He's piss-drunk, glaring at the ground. In the haze of everything, Otabek still has no idea what the man looks like. “All because of you and that fucking <i>fairy</i>.”</p><p>The way the man says <i>fairy</i> through his teeth like a curse digs right into Otabek's skin.</p><p>“Don't fucking talk about Yuri like that,” Otabek growls, somehow strong enough to defend Yuri, but not himself. </p><p>Fuck, <i>Yuri.</i> What if it had been Yuri and not him? What if someone hurt Yuri and Otabek was helpless to stop it?</p><p>The man grabs him by the shirt and pulls up. Otabek hangs weakly in his jacket, looking up into blood-shot eyes and the smell of sweet rot breath and liquor.</p><p>“I came here to fucking <i>kill</i> you,” the man hisses, spittle landing on Otabek's face only centimeters apart. “But I can't even fucking do <i>that</i> right.”</p><p>With a closer look, it's clear the assailant is more of a boy than a man. No more than eighteen. Red and blue lights flicker behind the man's shoulder and Otabek's eyes betray him. He glances to them with relief and the man drops him, then turns on his heels to flee.</p><p>With all of his strength, Otabek latches onto the man's legs like a gurney. He's kicked numb in the face by shoes covered in blood and vomit. Bile rises in Otabek's throat and he almost hurls, but then the man is yanked from him, pushed to the ground, and handcuffed. Otabek curls into a ball and breathes... inhale... exhale... through his mouth. It's difficult to breath through what used to feel like his nose and now only feels like agony. He knows it's broken.</p><p>The police bring him to the hospital, but he doesn't remember most of the ride. Everything is a blur of pain, confusion, and irrational fear. </p><p>He needs to call Yuri. He needs to hear Yuri.</p><p>Otabek can't find his phone in his pockets on the ride over, nor on his bedside at the hospital. The nurse insists he had arrived without a phone. The doctor only tells him to relax. Somewhere in the background, he hears professionals tell him his nose isn't broken 'too severely' and should heal in a couple of weeks. His bruises should heal even more quickly. He should be wary of any abdominal pain in the coming days, but overall, he's fine.</p><p>His body screams in protest, his own blood boiling him alive like lava. He doesn't <i>feel</i> fine. A hundred falls on hard ice, yet he's never felt so beaten. </p><p>He needs to call Yuri.</p><p>Through the haze, he's relieved he has time to heal before Worlds. Three months until Worlds. But damn does it hurt in that moment.</p><p>They allow him to shower. When he sees himself in the mirror, he's surprised he doesn't look worse. Black and blue and swollen red, sure, but the man's— <i>boy's</i>— unskilled fists must have bled more than him.</p><p>Two police officers are in his room to speak with him before he is discharged. Otabek recounts the incident in as much detail as he can recall, stressing that he is unaware of what caused the attack.</p><p>“That checks out,” one of the officers says simply, jotting something onto a notepad. “You're free to go.”</p><p>“What?” Otabek says quickly before the men turn to leave.</p><p>The officer looks irritated, like he would rather be anywhere in the world but here giving Otabek answers to questions that will eat him alive if unanswered.</p><p>“Your assailant informed us his sister is a big fan of your, uh...” he addresses his notepad, flicking the paper over with a soft ruffle. “...ice dancing.”</p><p>“Figure Skating,” Otabek corrects and the second police officer grunts out a short, judgmental laugh.</p><p>“Right,” responds the officer that apparently does most of the talking. “At any rate, this guy has a bit of a record. We've been looking for him. Sounds like his sister got a little bit obsessed with you and tried to off herself. Someone fished her out of Ile River disoriented and hypothermic... You know how teenagers get.”</p><p>“Especially the girls,” the other, less verbal officer helpfully adds.</p><p>“Right,” Otabek replies, taking his turn at being rude and dismissive, then adds, “Is she okay?”</p><p>The two officers regard each other with a look that conveys some kind of silent, inside joke.</p><p>“Yup. You have a good one,” the officer says with finality as they depart swiftly from the room.</p><p>He uses the hospital phone to call Umida (her number is the only he has memorized). She arrives in an unfamiliar sleek, black rental car.</p><p>Umida is silent for the ride home. Otabek loves her so much.</p><p>He retires immediately to his room as Umida calls after him to let him know she'll bring food. The stairs are painful. The light in his room is painful. Everything hurts, but the still unopened package on his bedside table that reads OTABEK in thick, black marker hurts most.</p><p>He calls Yuri on his laptop despite knowing he looks like shit.</p><p><i>Beka, what the fuck! Your face!</i> Yuri cries immediately, leaning into the screen. <i>What happened?</i></p><p>“Yura,” Otabek chokes, voice strained. “I'm glad you're okay.”</p><p>
  <i>The fuck wouldn't I be? What happened to YOU?</i>
</p><p>“My superfan has a very unstable brother,” Otabek says.</p><p>Otabek recounts all that he knows to Yuri, his voice breaking when he gets to the part where he was curled on the ground in pain with his assailant sobbing before him.</p><p>“I thought he was going to hurt me,” Otabek says, swallowing hard on the lump in his throat.</p><p>Yuri gives him a what-the-fuck-do-you-mean-you-<i>thought</i> kind of look.</p><p>“Worse than this, Yura,” Otabek explains. “The doctor said I'm fine.”</p><p>Yuri's face does not drop. <i>Are you hurt anywhere else?</i></p><p>Otabek nods, untrusting of his own words.</p><p>
  <i>Let me see.</i>
</p><p>After a brief hesitation, Otabek lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it down on the bed. The angry red-violet spread on his abdomen shows well on the camera, Otabek notices, and Yuri's eyes travel down it. His face looks like he's found an alien growing on Otabek's skin, but he doesn't want Otabek to see his fear.</p><p><i>So that's it?</i> Yuri's voice comes out with feigned indifference, but the wobble in his gaze is easy to read.</p><p>“Yura, I just kept thinking-” Otabek clears his throat, his eyes burning. “I kept thinking what if someone hurt <i>you</i>.”</p><p>Yuri's face drops instantly. He looks sad, gaze trained on his lap. He's poised cross-legged on the bed in front of his laptop, his usual pose for their talks, and Otabek wants to wrap him in his arms to kiss away his frown.</p><p>It dawns on Otabek in an instant.</p><p>“They've already hurt you,” Otabek says softly. So, so softly, as if he's afraid of being the final tap that shatters Yuri completely. The world has always hurt Yuri with their careless words and closed minds. Though they can't be seen on his body, his wounds cut deep, and Otabek is a fool to have not seen that sooner.</p><p><i>Barely,</i> Yuri dismisses weakly.</p><p>Everyone has hurt Yuri at some point. Family mostly abandoned him (though his grandfather does try). Skating fans treat him like a shameless diva or a dumb slut. Almost-friends like Viktor dismiss his feelings as childish and unnecessary. </p><p>Otabek feels like his heart is breaking from the weight of not seeing Yuri in all his mosaic of broken pieces glory. He's just glued together so artfully Otabek could barely see the cracks. He's been treating Yuri like an untouched sculpture; a fresh oil canvas. It's clear now that all Yuri wants is to be seen for what he is: crushed peridot gemstone shimmering in a sunbeam.</p><p>Yuri reads him easily. He leans in close with a soft smile and big, kittenish eyes. Otabek wants to use a pet name with Yuri. It's the one he's been thinking of for weeks, <i>Yurionok</i>. Kitten. Eyes of a soldier, sure. Strong like a warrior, always. But for Otabek, he's different. He puts away the sword and shield to bare his soft, beating heart with nothing but tiny kitten claws for defense.</p><p><i>But they can't hurt me now,</i> Yuri says almost as soft as a whisper as those wicked eyes look into his soul. <i>You know why?</i></p><p>Otabek is so, deeply in love.</p><p><i>Because I'm stronger.</i> Yuri's voice is thick and smooth like sweet honey.</p><p>
  <i>I have you, Beka. And you make me stronger than ever.</i>
</p><p>The stinging of Otabek's eyes worsens until big, fat tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He looks away from the screen. When Yuri begins to sing some sweet, Russian love song, Otabek sobs harder, crying into his hands in plain sight of the love if his life over four thousand miles away.</p><p>It's the most he's ever cried.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div>YURI<p>Though Yuri's main focus is preparing for the World Championships, he's spending way more time than he would like trying to get this crazy fucking language sorted out in his head.</p><p>He likes Kazakh. Really, he does. It's a fun and interesting language very different from Russian, though the fucked up nature of its soviet history does mean they've adopted a lot of Russian words, which Yuri feels no shame in admitting he loves because it makes his life marginally easier. The frequent English vocabulary helps, too.</p><p>Kazakh certainly does indirectly teach him about his lover's country. Otabek takes on new dimensions against the backdrop of this culture. All sharp sight and generous hands, slotted into traditions revolving around the motherland and kindness.</p><p>But Otabek is also a hell storm. A professional skater shredding ice alone in the mountain tops of a country built on husbandry— his arms steady, his feet shuffling to gain speed on a tight curve as he cuts high through the air.</p><p>Sometimes Yuri's not even sure why he bothers with the language. Everyone in Kazakhstan speaks Russian or English or usually both anyway (okay, maybe not everyone, but fucking good enough!) and it's not like he's planning to move there.</p><p>Unless Otabek doesn't want to move to Russia. Then Yuri is <i>definitely</i> fucking moving to Kazakhstan, no questions asked. He won't even ask Otabek. He'll just do it until he eventually beats Otabek into submission, no discussion necessary.</p><p>Early flowers are just beginning to blossom in Saint Petersburg as Moyka river thaws into an unusually warm March. Yuri can't fucking wait to defend his title as world champion in just four short days. He loves any excuse to go to Japan, and you won't catch him admitting it aloud, but he's excited to stop over for a visit in Hasetsu with Viktor and Yuuri after the competition. Saitama isn't exactly close (in fact, he'll have to add on an extra flight), but those Hasetsu hot springs always bring back pleasant memories of his senior debut and corresponding reunion with Otabek.</p><p>He'll also be in Saitama a week too early to see the cherry blossoms in full bloom, plus Otabek has never been to Hasetsu, so the extra stop just makes sense.</p><p>Yuri checks his phone to see he's missed a text from Otabek by ten too many minutes. It's been a couple of months since Otabek's assault, but he hasn't been able to see him in person, so it still feels fresh and terrifying for Yuri. All he's been able to see is Otabek on the other side of a cold computer screen with a white bandage over his broken nose and the deep, violet bruises on his face that have, thankfully, faded over time.</p><p><b>Otabek Altin 23:33</b><br/>
I can't wait to kiss you, Yura.</p><p>Yuri feels himself blush, longing to lick Otabek's thin, dry lips until they're soft and wet against him.</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 23:43</b><br/>
you better wait because I want to do it under the cherry blossoms </p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 23:43</b><br/>
it's going to be so romantic it will knock your fucking skates off</p><p>The little dots that indicate Otabek is typing appear and disappear a few times until finally Yuri is rewarded with an underwhelming <b>Looking forward to it.</b></p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 23:45</b><br/>
and bring your own clothes, loser</p><p><b>Yuri Plisetsky 23:45</b><br/>
I'm never sharing with you ever again</p><p>When his message stays unread, Yuri assumes Otabek has gone back to sleep and prepares to do the same.</p><p>Yuri's flight the next day is long and boring, but not nearly as bad as the one to Canada.</p><p>Yuri doesn't really have much to say to Otabek that isn't laced with moderate anger when they meet in the hotel lobby a short ride from the Saitama ice rink. His nerves are on fire and he just wants some decent food, a hot bath, and some fucking restful sleep. Plus, Otabek has the <i>audacity</i> to greet him in shitty Japanese just because they're in Japan. Of the many languages the man speaks, Japanese is not one of them. It pisses Yuri off and reminds him how much of a fucking <i>pedant</i> Otabek can be sometimes.</p><p>“Japanese food is <i>so good</i>,” Yuri slips when he takes his first bite at dinner, completely forgetting he's supposed to be annoyed with Otabek.</p><p>To Yuri's relief, Otabek answers in Russian, forgoing his butchery of the Japanese language. “Have you always loved Japanese cuisine so much?”</p><p>“I didn't have it much until my Senior Debut, and now it just reminds me of taking gold even when I lacked experience.” <i>And it reminds me of the year you came into my life</i>, Yuri omits because it's embarrassing, but he's thinking it very hard in Otabek's direction and he expects Otabek to pick up the signal.</p><p>“It was a good year,” Otabek says fondly. There's a Japanese love song playing through the restaurant speakers. Yuri knows it's a love song because he's heard the multiple Japanese forms of the word <i>love</i> spoken far too frequently by Viktor and Yuuri Katsuki in all types of scenarios. They're such <i>saps</i>.</p><p>“Can I ask you something about that year?” Otabek inquires, not looking up from his plate.</p><p>Yuri rolls his eyes and waits, watching Otabek.</p><p>“When we went shopping together, in Barcelona, why did you choose that outfit?” Otabek asks simply.</p><p>Yuri feels his heart flutter uncomfortably high in his chest. It's embarrassing thinking about when he was just a teen and willing to do anything to make Otabek think he was cool. It feels so long ago that he was trapped in the throes of an unrequited crush on his friend and fellow competitor. He knows Otabek's feeling were different then, blamelessly eager to protect and careful to keep some distance between them.</p><p>The outfit he's referring to, of course, is the outfit Yuri had disobediently followed Otabek to the club wearing. The one he skated in for Welcome to the Madness.</p><p>The one that, when he opened the fitting room curtain to show Otabek, Yuri swears he saw something quick and curious flicker in Otabek's eyes.</p><p>“It doesn't matter. It's stupid,” Yuri mumbles quietly, shoving more food in his mouth so he doesn't have to talk.</p><p>He should know better. That's never going to work with Otabek— the human embodiment of holy patience. Otabek watches him, waits to hear a better answer.</p><p>Yuri swallows, choosing his words much more carefully than he usually does. “It seemed like you liked it,” Yuri offers.</p><p>Otabek's face shifts. For just a beat, he trades in his trademark stoicism for something akin to surprise, then shame. </p><p>Otabek looks down at his plate and picks at his food. Yuri can't make out his expression anymore and it his pisses him off, but he can see that Otabek's brows are furrowed.</p><p>“That was fleeting, Yura,” Otabek says with irritating calm. “I haven't always-”</p><p>“I know,” Yuri interrupts him sharply. “<i>I know.</i> But that look, Beka. It burned me alive.”</p><p>Otabek is still looking at his plate. It's too similar to hanging his head in shame and Yuri wants to slap it away or kiss it or do fucking something, <i>fuck</i>.</p><p>“I'm so sorry,” Otabek says quietly, so, so quietly, then takes another bite of his food, still avoiding Yuri's gaze.</p><p>And Yuri's had just enough of that crap.</p><p>“No. Look at me,” Yuri demands. Otabek peeks up at him. “<i>Look,</i>” Yuri presses, and Otabek gives him his full attention. His head is held high, but he sighs as he sits up straight.</p><p>“What are you apologizing for?” Yuri asks, but it isn't really a question. “You have <i>always</i> been good to me.” <i>Good <b>for</b> me,</i> he thinks but can't bring himself to verbalize.</p><p>Yuri reaches out and grabs Otabek's hand more roughly than intended, lacing their fingers on the table in plain sight for all to see. Otabek shifts and Yuri fucking knows Otabek is about to disagree with him.</p><p>“Not a word,” Yuri says harshly. “This,” Yuri gestures between them, “is what we are now. Feelings change. Shut up and let them.” </p><p>Otabek's hand squeezes his.</p><p>“I wish to marry you someday, Yura,” Otabek says, the words enunciated clearly as his eyes puncture Yuri's calm.</p><p>“<i>Jesus,</i> Beka,” Yuri chokes on air, “Always zero to 100 with you!” He lets loose a bark of a laugh. The warmth from Otabek's palm feels safe and inviting, spreading up into his chest and down to the tips of the fingers on his lonely hand under the table.</p><p>Otabek shrugs, “I don't envision myself ever not being in love with you.”</p><p>Yuri already knows. He's known for years, through all of the different twists and tangles of love sprouting between them. But galaxies bloom and stars collide and all that sappy bullshit when he hears Otabek say it anyway.</p><p>Otabek takes a calm sip of his glass.</p><p>“Yeah, I fucking <i>know</i>,” Yuri sighs, exasperated. He pulls his hand away and shoves the last of his food in his mouth. “F'you keep giving me this insecure bullshit m'gonna be so angry,” Yuri adds delicately between chewing.</p><p>The rest of their dinner is pretty quiet, but Yuri can't complain. They exchange occasional pleasantries and flirt with their eyes, but they both know why they're here. Unlike Viktor and the pig, they are level-headed and career-focused even in the throes of new love. World medals are almost within their collective grasp and Yuri has a title to defend. A skater's competitive career is short and he only has so many years to snatch up as many gold medals as he can.</p><p>He's thankful he can compete against Otabek now at his best, with most of the superfan anxiety behind them. And now that Yuri's gone exclusive with Otabek, the superfan even likes <i>Yuri.</i></p><p>Just what Yuri needs. Another annoying fan.</p><p>It hadn't been his intention to cyberbully a young teen to the point of suicidal ideation and he refuses to let it feel like his fault. It <i>isn't</i> his fault. Mental health is complicated and shitty and her struggles with it were making Otabek struggle with his own. He stands by his actions.</p><p>But Yuri does feel guilty. Sometimes.</p><p>Thankfully, Otabek only has the one superfan, so he takes the time to conduct polite discourse with her from time to time. It keeps her subdued. She's a wealthy, aggressive, 14 year old figure skater named Karine. It's easy to tell she comes from an emotionally abusive home— or maybe it just takes one to know one. Yuri can see glimpses of his younger self in her and he fucking <i>hates</i> it.</p><p>He hates even more that soon he'll come face to face with this superfan-named-Karine. Otabek has agreed to <i>a dinner</i> with her after the competition and Yuri sure as shit isn't going to let him go alone.</p><p>But that shit is for later. Now is for winning.</p><p>As soon as they step onto the ice with their group for warm ups, Yuri can tell Otabek's nerves are humming. Yuri internally berates himself for assuming Otabek is skating with a clear head today. But Otabek has been landing all of his jumps consistently in practice and it looks like he's even increased the base technical score of his programs. <i>Again.</i> So can Yuri really be blamed for assuming Otabek is calm?</p><p>Otabek clearly thinks Yuri doesn't notice that he's stealing glances at him during warm ups, which is ridiculous. Yuri takes it easy, allowing his hair to flow loose around him as he passively runs through his step sequence, gliding into a clean Ina Bauer with a lay back just to make sure he's feeling limber. The cameras are obsessed with him as they follow, but he keeps his face perfectly trained. He attempts no jumps, flexing on his multiple world records as he does calm laps around the rink, circling the other skaters like a shark.</p><p>JJ shows off and looks completely stupid as he pops quad after triple after quad, obviously just wearing himself out before the competition has even begun.</p><p>JJ, predictably, is already tired when he gets on the ice and under-rotates his best quad, plus flubs a landing. He slots right into third place where be belongs since he's sure to be pushed down by the other 3 skaters that have yet to go and are definitely better than his stupid face.</p><p>Then Otabek is up and Yuri is all eyes. There is only one skater between him and Otabek— the American from Rostelecom— and Yuri knows that Otabek needs to give a clean performance to stand any shot at taking the podium.</p><p>He's magnificent— a muted tempest on ice.</p>
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</div>OTABEK<p>Otabek is a little surprised when the American finishes only 3 points behind him in the Short Program. He's proven to be a formidable skater, likely to mount the podium for long after Otabek and Yuri have left the competitive ice.</p><p>But as Otabek watches Yuri skate last, he knows the American's score wasn't enough. Yuri is perfect out there— an absolute legend of grace and beauty. He's wearing that costume that Otabek loves, too— the one with the elegant blues and greens layered over a crisp white base. He is the Yenisey River, ribbon-like and shimmering. To challenge him is to swim against a current, surging to victory with no pause.</p><p>Yuri finishes in first, Otabek in second, the American in third. He and Yuri spend the night refueling, comfortable in a shared quiet. </p><p>Lizaveta stops by their room briefly before bed to congratulate them and drop off some sweet nuts her fans tossed to the ice. JJ texts him to let him know he better not slack off tomorrow because he's still coming for the podium. Minami explodes on social media, in no way discouraged by coming in sixth today.</p><p>Tensions are high the morning of the Free Skate, but Yuri pulls him close just before they head out the door.</p><p>“I can't wait to see a medal around your neck,” Yuri says with surprising affection, then pulls away, expression schooled once more. </p><p>Otabek pauses to collect himself. Is Yuri softening up with him?</p><p>He can only dream.</p><p>The other competitors go by in a blur. Otabek's having trouble focusing on them. He's still thinking of Yuri when he takes to the ice, but it works to his benefit when this program is all <i>about</i> Yuri.</p><p>Otabek wonders halfway through his program as he tumbles through the air and glides out on a clean edge if he's even here at Worlds for himself. He's here for many things— his country, a love for skating, and surely Yuri— but he can't picture how exactly <i>he</i> fits into that anymore.</p><p>He thinks of the mountains of Almaty, the cracked cities of Russia. He thinks of the ever-moving, delicate part of Yuri's hair and of long nights on the rooftop with Umida, observing the crescent moon for the dawn of Eid al-Fitr. He thinks of the almost comical sum of hours, days, and years that somehow all boil down to infinite single moments just like this one. Otabek's hundreds of landed jumps, flawless spins, stress fractures, and bruised bones will all be appraised in this one, four-minute wedge of time.</p><p>He lands a solid 4-4 on a clean edge and the stadium booms.</p><p>There is no technical advantage, really, to land the first 4-4 ever landed in competition. He doesn't have enough quads in his program to truly warrant doubling up, but he does it anyway. Because he can. Because he's now the first person in the history of figure skating to do that in competition and no one can ever take that away from him.</p><p>He feels small in this moment. A tiny piece of something much bigger as the loudest cheers he's heard while standing on the ice rattle in his ears like white noise.</p><p>He takes his final pose, head throbbing and heart pounding. He searches for Yuri on the sidelines and when he finds him, his face is lit up like he's meeting a mythical beast, his face plastered with terrified awe. Coach Yakov even spares Otabek a nod.</p><p>Otabek isn't sure whether that's good or not, so he just gives them a thumbs up.</p><p>When he sees his score at the Kiss &amp; Cry, he knows he's won gold. Yuri can't beat that. Not with his current program, even if he skates clean.</p><p>Which, he does. He's heavenly. This skate has a very delicate, flighty quality to it, but this time Yuri skates it aggressively. His feet shuffle on the ice with easy speed as he grins, turns, and lands a beautiful 4-1-3 combination. He finishes on a flawless Biellman, leg pulled gracefully over his head as he turns on one point with neck-breaking momentum.</p><p>Otabek always suspected he would take gold in a major competition one day, but not like this. He's always figured he would need to get a little bit lucky to beat Yuri. In no fantasy did he beat a Yuri that skated a perfect program.</p><p>And to be fair, it's very close. Otabek takes gold over Yuri by .4 points.</p><p>Not even a full point. Not even a full <i>half</i> of a point.</p><p>But, yes, he is smug about it. And Yuri probably thinks it's 'cool.'</p><p>When he sees Yuri, he immediately opens his mouth to say something and is warmly greeted by Yuri's hand clamping his mouth shut. Regardless, it feels good to take the podium with two friends at his sides: Yuri and JJ (who did, in fact, still come for a medal, which is impressive in its own respect).</p><p>He sees the Kazakhstani flag held high in the stands and he feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the anthem plays. The gold is heavy and final where it hangs against his chest, close to his heart.</p><p>“Congrats, Beka,” Yuri says with a flat tone, avoiding his gaze, facing forward for the camera.</p><p>Yuri avoids him for the duration of the banquet, which is irritating because Otabek has a gift for Yuri in his pocket— a small, pudgy snow leopard kitten plush that begged to be purchased when Otabek found it.</p><p>“This made me think of you,” Otabek finally says to Yuri on the ride back to their hotel. Yuri snatches the kitten and holds it between his palms, smiling down at the little spotted gray fluff ball. The gift earns Otabek nothing more than a quiet 'thanks.'</p><p>Otabek leads the way through the lobby and down the hall, Yuri happy to silently trail behind for once. He slips his key card into the door and pushes it open once he hears the affirmative whir and click.</p><p>Then Yuri is on him faster than the door can close, pushing him against the wall and kissing him frantically. His fierce green eyes search him for something. The door clicks shut and Yuri has that look again— that look of terror and awe somehow wrapped into one.</p><p>“You really think you'd ever marry me?” Yuri asks breathlessly. “Y'know, if we could.”</p><p>“Without question, Yura. If you'd have me.”</p><p>Yuri's eyes flick down to where the medal still rests against his chest. “You were destined to one day take gold for Kazakhstan,” Yuri states fondly. Usually, Yuri is withdrawn when he doesn't win gold. This is new. He's all greedy hands and greedy eyes as he brings his fingertips to the medal and traces the design. “For <i>me.</i> Altinym...”</p><p><i>His</i> Altin. His <i>gold.</i> The words prickle along Otabek's skin and flip his world upside down. All he can do is watch Yuri and hope he doesn't plunge his hand straight through his chest to rip his heart out and fucking eat it.</p><p>Instead, Yuri drops to his knees and flicks Otabek's belt loose with a jingle. Yuri's pale pink lips wrap around his cock and Otabek can't breathe as he watches himself disappear down Yuri's throat. Otabek isn't sure where this Yuri came from, but it shatters him in all the best ways—Yuri's hands hold him hard against the wall, stilling him as he blows him with determination.</p><p>When Yuri's green eyes flick up to him, there's fight in them. Otabek's breath hitches. Yuri can have him any way he wants as long as those damn eyes never leave him.</p><p>The gold is still around Otabek's neck when Yuri spreads him open with his fingers and makes him tremble. Lain out on the bed, Otabek looks up into Yuri's sex-darkened eyes the color of shaded moss. His long, graceful arms hold Otabek firmly and his mouth is a focused line of sturdy determination. </p><p>Yuri's hands cup the back of Otabek's head delicately as he takes him, thrusting into him with a steady rhythm that communicates how badly Yuri wants to give him the world. He's slow but firm, heat dipping in and out with quiet, wet smacks.</p><p>Yuri makes love to him all night, cradling his heart like something precious— like it's something he'd never dare let go.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>OTABEK</p><p>“I can't believe we're doing this,” Yuri complains, voice lilting what is possibly the tenth time on the bitter breeze.</p><p>Otabek is far from agreeing. Dinner is the least he can do to make it up to his superfan, Karine, after causing her such misery.</p><p>“I have to thank her,” Otabek tells Yuri, stopping outside of the ramen house to rest his eyes on Yuri. Hiragana script flaps on a red banner above the hardwood door. Yuri rises on the balls of his feet to peek into the restaurant, squat and crowded.</p><p>“For fucking what?” Yuri groans.</p><p>“Us,” Otabek answers.</p><p>Yuri just looks at him like he's the stupidest person he has ever met.</p><p>“She pushed us together, Yurionok,” Otabek responds, dropping the pet name casually and without prelude. A bright, deep blush spreads over Yuri's cheeks and Otabek considers it a victory.</p><p>“Whatever,” Yuri deflates as he pulls the restaurant door open. “I didn't need some baby stalker hag to make me want you.”</p><p>Karine predictably spots them first. She has a sloppy head of messy, blonde-dyed hair that shifts as she jumps up from her seat. A young woman at her side leans in to say something to her, pulling Karine back down by her sleeve.</p><p>“Thank you so much for meeting us,” the young woman greets them in Shala Kazakh. Karine is buzzing beside her, but holds her tongue, seemingly lectured into controlling herself. “I'm Aylin, Karine's sister.”</p><p>“It's no problem at all,” Otabek responds with a smile, but he can feel its shaky.</p><p>“Let's speak English or something,” Yuri responds rudely in English, shaking off his coat and throwing it over the back of his chair and collapsing into it.</p><p>“Is Russian okay!?” Karine practically shouts. Several heads in the restaurant snap to them, then turn back to their food with quiet judgment. Not only is she loud, but this is <i>Japan</i>, so Otabek mentally amplifies their rudeness score.</p><p>“Yeah, whatever,” Yuri replies in Russian, eyeing Karine suspiciously. Otabek had noticed it, too. Their accents sound native Russian. Their family must be a blend.</p><p>They pass the meal uncomfortably, Karine shoving pictures and videos of her skating at Otabek for him to watch. He's already seen all of them before, as she has already sent them to him through their polite discourse, but he supposes it doesn't hurt to watch them again with her gleaming at him. Everyone (except Karine) seems relieved when their ramen arrives and they have something to occupy their mouths besides forced words.</p><p>“We really must apologize,” Aylin bravely offers late into the meal, once they've all emptied their bowls.</p><p>“Nonsense,” Otabek replies quickly. “I apologize for-”</p><p>“No,” Aylin silences with a hand raised. He obeys.</p><p>“Karine knows she was out of line. We've discussed it,” Aylin pauses to smile at Karine and, to Otabek's relief, she smiles back. “And that wasn't the first time our brother's actions were inexcusable.”</p><p>Aylin dives into a long explanation of their family. They've attended every international competition they could this year, after Karine injured her leg and couldn't skate as much anymore. Otabek can tell her story is a well rehearsed, abridged version learned over time. Yuri is silent, arms crossed over his chest, glaring out the window like he's lost in his own rehearsed story.</p><p>“It means a lot to us that you met with us today,” Aylin finishes, and now, Karine seems to have nothing to say. She looks sad, avoiding Otabek's gaze.</p><p>“I have something to return to you,” Otabek says, pulling the journal he'd received from JJ from his jacket and sliding it across the table. Aylin's eyes follow the book, sliding with it over the wooden table until they narrow angrily on Karine's face. Karine looks surprised as she chews on her bottom lip, flicking her eyes between everyone at the table.</p><p>“I'm not sure how you got into my hotel room, but please,” Otabek says calmly, lacing his fingers on the table, “don't ever do it again.”</p><p>“Your roommate left the door open,” Karine says quietly, watching the journal like it may burn her fingers if she touches it.</p><p>Yuri snorts out a rude laugh and rolls his eyes, “Of course JJ doesn't know how to close a fucking door.”</p><p>“I'm sorry,” Karine says as Otabek jabs Yuri with his elbow under the table, to which he yelps, but it goes unnoticed to Karine, “I just wanted you to notice me,” she finishes.</p><p>“I've noticed,” Otabek says dryly, then implores, “Never again?”</p><p>“Promise,” Karine agrees with a shy smile. She's so very young. </p><p>Aylin coaxes Karine to bring out a folded flier Otabek has never seen before, despite his face being plastered to it. He autographs the flier, pays their bill, and then they part ways. Otabek thinks it best not to thank Karine for her actions, even if they did lead to him and Yuri.</p><p>They leave the sisters behind in the dish-clinking restaurant, exiting into the quiet wisp of wind with Yuri more silent than usual. Otabek watches him from the corner of his eye. His face is wistful, eyes trained on the gray slabs of concrete under their feet.</p><p>“Thank you for coming with me,” Otabek says to Yuri, cautious to press.</p><p>“You were right,” Yuri mumbles and Otabek is surprised at the confession. “That was the right thing to do.”</p>
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</div><p>YURI<br/>
Otabek is a lot of things. He's hot as fuck, powerful at skating, skilled with so many forms of art, and has a natural talent for mechanical troubleshooting. He enjoys music and poetry. He once took a road trip all the way from Almaty to Moscow just because he wanted to “see the lay of the land.”</p><p>One thing that Otabek is not very skilled with, Yuri has learned, is accepting commitment. Their first morning in Hasetsu, Otabek mumbles some bullshit about having a headache. After Yuri drags Otabek to the hot springs and he doesn't perk up, he leaves Otabek to mope in bed.</p><p>Yuri doesn't consider himself to be a snoop. But he may just entirely be a person who might happen to snoop one time when he wants to know what's up with Otabek Altin and also happens to know that his passcode is 0103, which he really only remembers because it's his own fucking birthday.</p><p>JJ is the most recent person Otabek has been messaging. Their conversation brings to light that Otabek is just waiting for Yuri to move on to be with other people. He's been spouting some bullshit about Yuri having too much brilliance for just one person, and as much as it makes Yuri want to set the phone on fire, JJ is a good listener. Apparently.</p><p>Yuri sets out to go shopping around town, flubbing his way through with barely passable, purely transactional Japanese and switching to English as soon as possible. He pushes away all of his intrusive anxiety about how very much he's turning into Viktor as he browses the few stores in town that sell jewelry.</p><p>It's all overpriced and sissy and so deeply stupid. He feels dirty and wrong as he thinks more and more about snooping through Otabek's phone. That is not the boyfriend— ahem, excuse him, <i>man</i>— he wants to be.</p><p>The following day, Otabek seems to be in much higher spirits. They spend a perfectly fine (gross) morning with Viktor and the Pork Cutlet Bowl. Otabek's eyes touch Yuri all over. He makes little comments that sneakily target ongoing arguments with Yuri and then has the audacity to flirt with him under the table, face calm as he carefully chews his breakfast.</p><p>Otabek excuses himself to his room to grab a coat before they head out, but lingers by the doorway, dark eyes trained on Yuri.</p><p>Yuri follows his silent command with an irritated grumble.</p><p>"Yura," Otabek wraps his hands around Yuri's hips as the door closes, then rumbles into his ear. “Can I have you?”</p><p>Fuck, Otabek is sexy. He motions vaguely, implying he'd like to press Yuri's back into the bed.</p><p>“Missionary? <i>Again?</i>"  Yuri complains, but is sure to keep his voice down. It's the middle of the fucking day and literally everyone is home and moving around the Katsuki house, plus they have guests staying at the hot springs. Yuri can understand why Viktor and other Yuuri moved into their own apartment almost immediately upon settling in Hasetsu. Privacy with Otabek is worth a million fucking gold medals.</p><p>Otabek grins on a brief, singular laugh. He tenderly kisses Yuri's bottom lip, slow with a quiet smack, then graces his top lip with the same level of careful affection. “I love taking you like that,” Otabek tells him factually, his voice low.</p><p>Yuri loves it, too. He's just being a brat to flag his own erection, throbbing hot in his pants. Now is not the time or place plus Yuri is on a fucking <i>mission</i> today and risky family-friend's-home sex would derail his careful plans.</p><p>Otabek's lips smear against Yuri's, wet and sloppy. He tastes like green tea and that earthy Otabek taste that reminds Yuri of cardamom. Otabek's leg slots between his and Yuri moans as he feels Otabek rut his hips on his thigh, hot and hurried like an animal.</p><p>Yuri wants to drive him <i>wild.</i> He takes him in a violent kiss, wide-mouthed and aggressive.</p><p>Otabek is a pleaser and his reaction does not disappoint. He gasps into Yuri's mouth, licks him back, and pulls away with a deep, guttural hum.</p><p>The pads of Otabek's fingers touch rough against Yuri wet lips, sliding along them lightly enough to tingle. </p><p>“I'm not usually very sexual,” Otabek's voice rumbles low. </p><p>Yuri lets out a doubtful <i>tch</i>, but is silenced as Otabek dips his thumb to stroke the tip of Yuri's tongue. Yuri lets his lips hang loose, gazing back at Otabek, entirely seduced.</p><p>“I just want to worship you, Yura,” Otabek says softly, unsmiling with a stern stare but voice fucked-out.</p><p>How dare Otabek choose this moment to seduce him. They have <i>shit to do.</i></p><p>Yuri pulls Otabek's belt loose and unzips his jeans. Otabek grips his hips and ruts even harder, watching Yuri.</p><p>“Yurioooo,” an annoying Russian calls from somewhere down the hall. “You promised if I cook, you wash,” Viktor sings in a greatly irritating, improvised tune, growing louder as he gets closer. Yuri can hear other Yuuri somewhere further away, urging Viktor to just leave them alone.</p><p>Otabek quickly zips his fly and re-fastens his belt, then separates from Yuri.</p><p>Viktor bursts into the room without knocking. Otabek is pretending to inspect the pictures on the dresser, hands in his pockets to presumably hide his bulge and honestly, it's very convincing.</p><p>Viktor smiles and shakes his head when he looks at Yuri. </p><p>It is not a genuine smile.</p><p>Yuri is embarrassed by how obvious he must look compared to Otabek. He glares at stupid Viktor, his cheeks still hot and his breath still ragged.</p><p>Viktor lectures Yuri in condescending Russian while he washes the dishes, recommending he develop some better time management skills. One should never promise to do something if they know they have something else to do right after. Perhaps adults should find their own place to stay if they can't respect the home.</p><p>Otabek quietly dries the dishes, offering the reaction of a person that understands zero Russian. Yuri wonders if Otabek is any good at poker.</p><p>Once the dishes are finished and Viktor grows bored with playing father, Otabek and Yuri prepare to head out. Otabek looks him up and down by the door and a smile almost twitches at the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“You're going to be cold in that,” Otabek kindly points out.</p><p>Yuri whips his head around the room. He's a fucking dead man if Viktor heard that. Yuri has a reputation to uphold and he absolutely cannot have Viktor knowing that, no, his ripped jeans and revealing tanks do not do anything to bundle his pale, thin limbs from the biting cold.</p><p>“I'm fucking Russian, remember?” Yuri retorts loudly. Just in case Viktor did hear and is playing innocent for now. “I don't feel the cold.”</p><p>Otabek doesn't challenge him on it. He merely steps into his shoes and leads the way outside for a leisurely stroll through the cherry blossoms.</p><p>Which are fucking stupid because no one bothered to tell Yuri they were going to bloom early this year.</p><p>Yuri settles near a bench away from people, just along a walkway branching from the main stretch. They can see the water from here and the town is quiet in the middle of the workday. They've seen only two or three people passing by and Yuri is thankful for it.</p><p>“Yura,” Otabek says to him and Yuri's spine vibrates. He knows that tone— it's Otabek's way of politely reprimanding or shaming him for being upset about something. Otabek always expects full honesty and communication from him which is stupid, actually, when Yuri thinks about it because wasn't he <i>just</i> texting JJ a bunch of bullshit he hadn't told him yet?</p><p>“I went through your stupid phone, okay?” Yuri answers him angrily, watching the cerise shades of the cherry blossom petals float on a sudden gust of wind. It's still chilly this time of year in Hasetsu and he shivers.</p><p>Otabek regards him with watchful eyes and a slight frown. “Thank you for telling me.”</p><p>Yuri feels his blood boil. That's all he has to say? That's really fucking IT?</p><p>“Tell me,” Otabek begins. “Why do you not get along with many of the other skaters?”</p><p>Otabek is looking off at the water's horizon under a canopy of pink and white. It reminds Yuri a little of the first night Otabek made love to him— three months ago, staring off at the water's horizon in Vancouver before they flew out the following day. </p><p>Yuri isn't expecting this question. It isn't that he dislikes any of them (except maybe JJ) but no one has ever asked him in such plain terms why he behaves the way he does. Why, exactly, he seems so difficult to approach in the skating world. Why he and other Yuuri have such a troubled relationship.</p><p>“I don't like speaking English very much,” Yuri answers him quietly, suddenly shy and vulnerable on a foreign walkway in a foreign country with a foreign lover. “My mother taught me English.”</p><p>Otabek's brow raises with interest as he looks again at Yuri, but he says nothing.</p><p>“I know that's a really lame an-”</p><p>“Not really,” Otabek cuts him off. They watch the horizon together quietly. Petals float around them and Yuri passively wonders if this is a new habit for them. Quietly staring off at beautiful scenery is a new thing for Yuri. He doesn't often give himself so much time and freedom to explore his own thoughts, but it isn't an unpleasant experience with Otabek by his side.</p><p>“So it was only a matter of whomever was willing to speak the same language as you,” Otabek says flatly.</p><p>“Not true! There was Mila and Georgi and Viktor and still, I...” Yuri trails off when he sees the slight smirk on Otabek's lips. “Oh, you're joking.”</p><p>“Yes, Yura,” Otabek answers. “I'm sorry.”</p><p>Yuri is watching Otabek more intently now. His black hair shifts lightly in the breeze, a couple of bright petals caught there. His dark eyes pierce into Yuri with an intensity that still makes him squirm on occasion, but today draws him in. He isn't sure how someone so well-rounded and cool could be truly interested in him. Yuri's one-dimensional; a lonely, hot-tempered boy who has poured everything about himself into skating and nothing else.</p><p>Otabek is a man of many dimensions. He has a wicked sense of humor and an ear for poetry. He has plenty of friends back in Almaty, a pleasant family, and a mature fashion sense. He's a motorcycle hobbyist and can carry a tune in a low, haunting tone that Yuri swears could go viral.</p><p>Christ, he has literally brought medal after medal home to a country that is practically <i>the same fucking age as him.</i> There were no skate shops or top-level coaches for Otabek. No structured practice schedules or Viktor Nikiforovs to follow after.</p><p>Yet, Yuri knows that Otabek wants him— a relatively spoiled Russian brat with no hobbies or talents to name that aren't related to figure skating.</p><p>“I wanted to surprise you,” Yuri starts suddenly and Otabek turns his head to him again. “After I went snooping through your phone...” Yuri adds sheepishly, still feeling guilty for acting out of turn.</p><p>Yuri hates himself as he pulls two gold rings from his pocket and holds them out in the palm of his hand. They're identical, each with one, solid black titanium stripe wrapped around the full circumference. He hates himself as he watches Otabek's eyes widen uncharacteristically over an ever-so-slight surprised part of his lips.</p><p>He hates himself for copying Viktor and Yuuri. He'd liked the solid black onyx rings better, to be honest, but he doesn't have many positive romantic role models, especially same-sex ones, so he figures gold is just what you <i>do</i>.</p><p>“I have no idea what you want from me, Beka,” Yuri says with unintentional anger, over-stressing the Russian plosives as he studies the rings in the palm of his hand, unable to continue holding Otabek's gaze. He's afraid Otabek is going to smirk at him and call him a sap or a sissy or any other number of things he's never heard come out of Otabek's mouth, but there's a first time for everything.</p><p>Yuri clears his throat and tries again. “I don't know what you want from me, but I want to give it to you,” he finishes, more softly this time, then takes a deep inhale. “Tell me if you think this is stupid,” he mutters.</p><p>Yuri looks back up and startles at the sight of Otabek's eyes, glassy with unformed tears. Otabek's hands close around Yuri's outstretched palm, encasing his hands and the rings with such tenderness Yuri has to physically re-ground his feet to keep from running away.</p><p>“Not so stupid,” Otabek says with a smile as he slips the smaller ring onto Yuri's right hand— his ring finger, Yuri triumphs— then slips the thicker one onto his own. He holds it in front of him for a moment, looking fondly down at it, and Yuri has to control himself from panicking at how much the gesture reminds him of Viktor.</p><p>Maybe it isn't so bad, though, when he thinks of how blissfully happy Viktor is in the life he shares with the other Yuuri.</p><p>Yuri's been practicing this for a long time and he's nervous, but he tries anyway, uncertain whether it's even a grammatically correct sentence. “Skate with only me,” Yuri says in sloppy Kazakh. “Forever. <i>Aynalayin.</i>”</p><p>Otabek chuckles softly, then pulls Yuri close to him with one arm. “That didn't make very much sense,” Otabek says into his hair on a breathy smile.</p><p>Yuri deflates against him, burrowing into his jacket collar out of embarrassment. “Kazakh is a stupid language. I tried really hard...” Yuri mumbles into him, uncertain if he's even heard.</p><p>He feels Otabek hesitate for a moment. Otabek's head swivels to check their surroundings before pulling his chin up to level their eyes. </p><p>Otabek replies in pure Kazakh. Yuri is pretty sure he understands, but just blinks at him, seeking confirmation.</p><p>“For as long as you'll have me,” Otabek repeats softly in their shared language. Yuri melts into him, not caring for a moment if they're seen kissing by random passerby. The town has to be used to it by now anyway, with Yuuri living here and Viktor always starved for his touch.</p><p>Otabek pulls back from the kiss slowly and they linger for a moment, Yuri's hand on Otabek's cheek adorned proudly with his new, shiny whatever-the-fuck-it-means ring.</p><p>They pull away, Yuri feeling giddy and full of love.</p><p>“Would we hyphenate?” Otabek asks as they walk side by side.</p><p>“What?” He couldn't mean...</p><p>“Our names,” Otabek adds comfortably.</p><p>“Fuck no. I'm not hyphenating shit.”</p><p>“Hm,” Otabek responds and Yuri nudges his shoulder, playfully knocking him off the pavement for a moment.</p><p>“I'm not sure I'd want to give up my name,” Otabek comments, almost as if thinking aloud.</p><p>Yuri wheels on him, scoffing with disbelief. “Beka, we would obviously be the Altins. You think I'd pass up a chance to make gold LITERALLY my last name?”</p><p>Otabek falters, his face melting into something tragically soft.</p><p>“Oh,” Otabek says, then continues on their walk.</p><p>Yuri isn't sure what's in store for them. Whether it's more crazy fans, sappy weddings, or just stupid conversations like this, Yuri wants it all.</p><p>“For next season,” Otabek says, "what do you think of me taking gold with something more like my Exhibition Skate?”</p><p>Well, maybe Yuri doesn't want this more than he wants to keep competing and winning, but it looks like he can have both.</p><p>“Like hell you're taking gold again next year!” Yuri shouts at him, flinging his hand to swat him away, but Yuri can feel that he's still smiling big and wide. “You get one for Kazakhstan and that's IT. The rest are MINE!”</p><p>Otabek turns to him and gently flicks Yuri's nose. Yuri is startled by the action and stills, scrunching his face.</p><p>Otabek's adoring eyes pin him to the cherry blossom trunks, brown scarf wisping in the breeze, dark hair tousled as creamy pink petals catch and shift around them. The years of repressed love and adoration pouring from Otabek seem obvious now and a smile tugs at Yuri's lips.</p><p>Otabek returns his smile, ring flashing in the sunlight as he fixes his hair. “Bring it, Plisetsky.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Serves you your cheesy ending*</p><p>Thanks for reading! All of your kudos and comments really do make me very happy, so thank you for that also!!</p><p>I have more aged-up otayuri loitering in my brain and hard drive, hoping to some day graduate to loitering on ao3. 🥰</p><p>EDIT 3/28/2021: I'm actually doing it! It's happening! I'm posting more otayuri! lol</p>
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